


Moon Struck

by omega12596



Series: Dream On [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders witout Justice, Drama and Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frustrated Fenris, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 75,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!Warden Commander kicks Justice out and leaves behind a different Anders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>A single night in a dark cave, the taste of salt and bitter and lyrium on his tongue, Anders enraged and confused in the aftermath. A crystalline moment in the clinic, pleasure and desire and need pouring forth, blood spilled and flesh healed and blessed sleep. Two moments in a history that spanned years, dual points of remembrance that haunted him, beckoned him, hounded Anders at the oddest times, any time his thoughts weren’t otherwise occupied, and sometimes even then.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Bitch please! You know where I’ve been, Justice. Now stop fucking around and remove yourself from Anders’ body.” 

Said mage was currently held between Nathaniel Howe and Zevran Arainai, while Garrett, Carver, Varric, and Fenris looked on with varying degrees of distress.

“Excuse me, Warden Commander? What exactly makes you think you can order Justice out of Anders?”

“I’m sorry, who’s speaking?”

“My brother.” Carver didn’t exactly curl his lip, but it was a close thing.

“Right!” Neria popped around the side of Nathaniel to address Hawke directly, a perky, bright grin on her elven face. 

After what they’d just seen and been through, trying to find and then rescue Howe (at the behest of his sister) the five of them stumbling over the Warden Commander and her companions cutting a path through the ‘spawn’, Fenris was honestly more frightened by her happy, pixie smile than by the ferocity with which she cast magic.

“Garrett, right? Carver there bitches about you non-stop, but I can totally hear the respect and admiration under his belly-aching. What did you ask again?”

“Uh, well, Anders led us to believe he and Justice couldn’t be separated, unless Anders dies, I suppose. Well, there was something about a Tevinter potion, but I’m a little skeptical about that. Either way, I’m not exactly fond of the idea of Anders dying.”

“Anders spent more time escaping the Circle and reading texts on anatomy and healing than anything else. He doesn’t know what I do about magic. Isn’t that right, Anders?”

There was a very loud sigh from the mage. “Yes.”

Neria winked at Garrett and the human looked as if he had no idea what to make of the slightly off-kilter female before him. “Besides, I learned a ritual during the blight, used it to save the Arl of Redcliffe’s boy. And thankfully, there’s a shit ton of lyrium right over there,” she flung her hand in the direction of a raw lyrium deposit not far from where they stood. “So no worries, Big Hawke, I got this.”

“Ha! Big Hawke. Funny.”

“Shut up, dwarf.” Carver glared at Varric, which only earned the younger brother a hearty chuckle.

“Whatever you say, Little Hawke.”

Neria found this utterly delightful and laughed herself. “You call him that?”

“I called him that _first_.”

“My dear Warden, could we perhaps get on with this? I know Nathaniel claims the ‘spawn are gone, but lingering in the Deep Roads is not, in general, a wise idea.”

Neria danced around to Zevran, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “You’re right, my love. What would I do without you to keep me on point?”

“Likely slaughter anything that gets in your way, happily skipping about as you did so, _mi amora_.”

All light left Neria’s delicate features as she addressed Anders/Justice once more. “You can do this the easy way or the hard way, Justice. I mean it. Anders needs to come home, but so do you, and if what I’ve heard from Carver there is anything to go by, you need out of that lovely body immediately.”

“Commander, it’s not that I don’t want to do what you ask, but Justice doesn’t know how, nor does he really want, to leave me. There is so much we still need to accomplish, the plight of mages-“

“Bah, the plight of mages! Still, you cling to your demon, Abomination.” Fenris spat the remark, undeterred by the ugly glares he received from Hawke, Anders, Zevran, the Hero of Ferelden… alright, pretty much everyone except maybe Carver.

Neria tapped her foot on the ground. “Didn’t you just heal everyone, Anders?”

“Yes.”

“Equal parts creation and spirit magic, if I haven’t forgotten the flavors. Which I haven't, since I'm a _mage_.”

“Right again.”

The diminutive elf cocked a brow at Fenris. “You do know actual abominations can’t heal, right? All that fucking lyrium hasn’t addled your brain, has it?”

Anders laughed out loud. “Well, there was this time, in my clinic-“

“You will not speak of it, mage.” Fenris actually growled the words, his brands igniting.

“Damn it, Zev, you didn’t tell me he was so pretty.”

“I apologize, _mi amora_ , I was rather otherwise engaged when last the ex-slave of Tevinter and I met. Fenris is quite handsome, though, no?”

“Hmm, very. But I digress. Justice is not a kind virtue, _Fenris_. It’s a bit cut and dried, isn’t it? A thing is just or unjust, there really isn’t much in between.” 

She drew out his name and Fenris shifted uncomfortably. The way she spoke slowly, as if he were simple, grated on him. “I suppose.”

“Well, then, that should explain it.” Turning again to the matter at hand, Neria tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Big Hawke, can you heal at all?”

“Not as well as Anders, but yes.” Garrett shifted on his feet, anxiety clear.

“Carver, can you do it?”

“Neria, I don’t- there’s lyrium right there!”

“I know, but this will be quicker. And less draining on me, if we run into more of the blighted ‘spawn. Fucking nasty things.” 

“Shit. Garrett, back up.”

“Carver, what’s going on?”

“I’d scoot back if I were you. At least ten feet. Oh, and seriously, keep your shit together. Everything will be fine.” Neria stepped well clear of Nathaniel, Zevran, and Anders.

“Neria, please don’t.” Blue cracks started to show in Anders skin, his voice doubling as Justice surged forward.

“Justice, I told you. Out.”

“THE MAGES MUST HAVE JUSTICE! THE CIRCLES MUST FALL!”

“Do it, Carver, now!”

The youngest Hawke stepped in front of Justice/Anders and held his hand, palm out, to the possessed mage. There was a focused, directed blast of magic cancelling power and Anders immediately dropped between the two men who held him.

“You silenced him!” Garrett made to charge forward, but Varric and Fenris held him back.

“I don’t like it either, but she asked for our trust, Hawke.” The elf felt his brands light as he watched the man he longed for hang limply in front of the Warden Commander. But if this woman could do what she claimed, he would stay his hand.

Shoving Carver out of the way, Neria jumped toward Anders and pulled a small knife from a sheath at her hip. “Johnson over there is still fresh. You’ll be safe until we get back to the Vigil, Justice, and I can finally take you home to the Fade.” And with no more preamble, she plunged her blade straight into Anders' chest.

Everything that happened next was a bit of a blur. Carver rushing forward, trying to hold back not only Garrett but Fenris as well, Varric unsure what to do or who to shoot. Howe and Zevran put Anders down quickly and flanked their Commander, a formidable wall against any potential attacks.

While curses were screamed and bodies strained, though, one of the fallen Wardens stirred, the body rolling to its side, then into a sitting position. “He is slipping away, Commander.”

Neria dropped to her knees beside Anders, healing magic pouring from her hands. “Big Hawke, get the Void over here and help out!”

Garrett threw his brother to the side and rushed to Anders. Fenris clenched his hands, trying to swallow back a surge of jealousy. He knew the two were lovers, and oblivious to Fenris' own desires, but watching Garrett join his magic to the Hero’s as they fought against time to bring Anders back from the brink, twisted the elf's insides. Knowing there was nothing he could do to aid them, to help the mage, made Fenris damn himself a thousand times, for his inability and for the ridiculous wish that he could. He heard the two say the damage to Anders’ heart was minimal, but mortal. Time passed with surreal slowness until both mages collapsed next to the unconscious Anders. They’d managed the impossible. They were drained dry, mana expended, but the once-possessed ex-Warden lay between them, whole, now dispossessed, and alive.

* * *

“Gimme another potion, fuck.” Neria held her hand out to Zevran who pressed a small blue bottle in her palm.

“If you weren’t the Hero of Ferelden and I weren’t completely useless right now, I’d fucking hit you.” Garrett turned his head to glare at the woman.

"I thought this brilliant plan of yours was supposed to be less draining than doing the ritual?"

The Commander laughed and let her man help her to her feet. “And I'd like to hit your brother. But hey, we can't always get what we want. Besides, I get that a lot actually, people wanting to hit me. Most of my closest friends have tried to kill me." She dusted off her backside before crouching next to Anders, feeling his pulse. Satisfied, she turned back to Garrett.

"Now, here’s the deal, Garrett. Nathaniel, Zev and I are heading back to Amaranthine with Justice. I don’t know what Anders has told you about Wardens, but he can’t ever actually be an ex one. You get that, right?”

Hawke nodded. “I do.”

“Good. So, I don’t want him pissed at me for talking out of turn, but I’ll tell you some shit went down while I was gone from the Vigil, while most of us were, that led to Justice possessing Anders. It was bad, real bad. And I have an epic amount of guilt over it, which is why I’m leaving him here, with you. For now.”

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this.” Garrett sat up and took the hand Fenris proffered.

“Take care of him. Get him to fucking eat at least, Maker, he’s skin and bones. But remember, Anders will always be one of mine, and I protect my own.”

Fenris looked from Hawke to the Commander and then to Anders. For all the mordacious barbs and thoughts he’d had for Anders over the years, much of it he silently- and privately- hated himself for there was no denying the man had earned the trust, affection, and loyalty of two very powerful people. 

This truth only served to further discomfit the elf, as he struggled to deal with his own confused and chaotic feelings about the mage. And to hide them from Hawke, who Fenris counted as friend and had no wish to harm.

“As do I.”

And just like that, her face turned almost-angelic. “Excellent! Then we won’t have any problems. Ooh, so _Fenris_ , do you like girls too?”

His gaze whipped to the elf. “What?”

“What do you think, Zev? Think we could talk him into it?”

The Antivan laughed warmly. “Ah, my dear, did I not tell you Isabela resides in Kirkwall?”

The Warden Commander’s eyes widened with pure delight. “Captain Isabela? From the Pearl?”

“The very same!”

The tiny woman jumped into Zevran’s arms, smattering kisses all over his face. “Yes, yes, yes! We have to see Isabela!”

“Not her too.” Carver grumbled as his companions, Justice falling in behind Howe, began to make their way from the tunnels.

“Her too? Carver, is that woman even sane?” Garrett watched the group leave, clearly at a loss.

Surprisingly, the youngest Hawke actually laughed. “She absolutely sane, but after defeating the Archdemon, the Mother, making a deal with the Architect, and slaughtering Maker only knows how many demons, darkspawn, abominations, werewolves, animated corpses… She’s a total psychopath. Sane though. And with a wicked sense of humor.” 

The two Hawke’s stared at each other for a few minutes before Garrett clapped Carver on the shoulder. “It was good to see you, despite the circumstances.”

“And you, Brother. I’d better go.”

The elder Hawke nodded and released the last of his family with a sigh. Turning back to Fenris and Varric, he motioned to Anders. “How long do you think he’ll be out?”

“Hard to say, Hawke, but I don’t exactly want to hang around waiting for Blondie to rejoin the conscious.”

“Agreed. Can we make a litter?”

“I’ll carry him.” Fenris stepped forward and crouched to pull the mage first upright, then onto his feet, before settling his shoulder in Anders belly and standing.

“Maker, Fenris, are you sure?”

“Shift my sword. I will be fine. We aren’t far from the entrance.”

“Yes, but he has at least four inches on you.”

Fenris shrugged and adjusted his new burden while Hawke maneuvered his sword to make space for Anders’ upper body. “The Commander is right. He’s almost skin and bones.”

Hawke summoned Ralph, his Mabari, just in case and the group made their way topside, Garrett and Fenris lost in their own thoughts, Varric’s fingers itching for parchment.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hawke?”

“Hmm?” Garrett looked up from the desk at Anders’ approach.

“Could we talk? Privately?”

“Sure.”

The two men made their way into the library, Hawke closing the door behind them. “I think I know what you want to talk to me about. The truth is I wanted to talk to you as well.”

“You know I care deeply for you, right?” Anders stepped close to Garrett, took the other mage’s strong hands in his own. “I love you. The sex is great too,” he smiled warmly at the other man’s grin. “But since Justice… left, I don’t know. I feel like things are changed between us.”

Hawke sighed and Anders met his gaze. “It’s… you’re different, Anders. Before, you looked at me like I was the center of your world, the lone shelter in a storm. The passion in your eyes, in your heart, was a wild, fiery thing. But now-“

“Now, it’s not the same. Because you aren’t my anchor in the mortal realm, you aren’t the one thing I fight to hold onto, to not lose myself to Justice. To Vengeance.”

Garrett looked away. “I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I? You aren’t as needy now and that has made me realize my feelings aren’t the same. I love you, Anders, I do, but not like I did. I fell in love with a deeply troubled, struggling man, who poured his emotions into every touch, every kiss.”

“Being un-possessed definitely makes me feel less... frantic, I suppose. Well, I mean I am, but now I can hide behind sarcasm, deflect with charm and clever quip, lose myself in a bottle if I like. Without Justice stopping me from hiding, preventing me from obfuscating things I don’t want to deal with, blocking me from getting drunk… I understand. I do. And I won’t lie, I love you too, Garrett. But not the way you need. Even I recognize that. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at Merrill. How long have you been drawn to her? Did you give me the key all those years ago just because you couldn’t stand the thought of losing me to the Templars?”

Garrett pulled away. “No, but it was part of the reason. Fuck, Anders, she’s a blood mage! Possessed by a spirit of Justice is one thing. But a maleficar? I’m out of my bloody mind. To answer your question, pretty much from the moment I met her. I just,” Hawke broke off and rubbed an agitated palm over his face.

Two months ago, before Neria had shown up in the Deep Roads and killed him, temporarily, to remove Justice, Anders would have been devastated by Garrett’s admission. But now, he was actually relieved. “I think we both fell in love for the wrong reasons, even though loving you is nothing I could ever regret.”

Garrett gave him a soft smile. “Nor could I. You’re a wonderful man, Anders. One of my best friends, hell maybe the very best. You’re family to me. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t, Hawke, because I feel the same way.” Both men were quiet for a while, adjusting to the honesty, the new reality they’d written this night.

“You know, I think this might be the most amicable break up I’ve ever had.”

Each man chuckled softly. “I won’t hear of you moving back to Darktown, either. There are plenty of rooms in this house, Anders. I mean it.”

The Warden grinned cheekily. “Don’t have to twist my arm. Speaking of, I should get to the clinic. Will I see you at dinner?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you want my advice? Go to her, talk to her, find out if there’s even a chance there. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I might suggest the same thing. Though Fenris? Maybe you’re more the Anders I know after all.”

“What? Oh, by the Void no.” Anders brushed Garrett’s comment off, but the other man wasn’t buying it, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“By the Maker, yes. Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

A single night in a dark cave, the taste of salt and bitter and lyrium on his tongue, Anders enraged and confused in the aftermath. A crystalline moment in the clinic, pleasure and desire and need pouring forth, blood spilled and flesh healed and blessed sleep. Two moments in a history that spanned years, dual points of remembrance that haunted him, beckoned him, hounded Anders at the oddest times, any time his thoughts weren’t otherwise occupied, and sometimes even then.

The warden turned away and shook his head. “Honestly, Garrett. I don’t know. Maybe.” Then seriousness fled. “There’s nothing, but he really is terribly fun to needle. And the way he blushes, how could I possibly pass up those opportunities?”

Hawke snorted. “I think he’d rather listen to your diatribes on mage freedom, if it might get him respite from your ribbing.”

“I beat that topic to death. I doubt anything would change his point of view and life is just too short. Especially mine, damn taint,” he chuckled. “Besides without Justice telling me I should try to get others to understand the injustice of the Circle all the time, I find I don’t feel the need for Fenris’, or anyone else’s, support for the cause. I don’t imagine it’ll be much longer before Meredith completely cracks and then,” Anders paused, fists clenched at his side as righteous fire filled him, “we will either fight for our freedom or we’ll die.”

“Then we’ll fight, Anders.” A look of longing flashed in Garrett’s eyes and Anders felt a moment of guilt for what was, but it passed as he gave the other man a bright smile.

“That’s enough of dark and dramatic for now. There are sick that need healing, after all.” 

“I’ll think about what you said.”

“I will try _not_ to do likewise.” With a cheeky grin and a jaunty wave, Anders left the library and made his way to the cellars beneath the estate.

* * *

“Blondie! You know, I notice you’ve been looking at least three shades better than death lately. And then you come in looking like shit and I have to wonder what you’ve been up to.”

Anders slid into an empty chair at Varric’s table and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Nasty infection running through the poor in Kirkwall. I spent the day fighting to save as many as I could and trying, yet again, to impress the importance of cleanliness. I don’t care how destitute, there’s water all around this place and soap is cheap to make or procure.”

“I won’t lie, Blondie, I almost thought you’d give up that place and high tail it out of town by now. Without your extra passenger, you’ve been-“

“Different?” Anders shrugged, giving Norah a grin as she set a mug in front of him. “Why thank you, lovely. I don’t suppose there’s any stew left, is there?” He put just a bit of heat into his gaze, grinning as the barmaid huffed at him, eyes twinkling.

“I can probably find a bowl or two.”

“You’re a goddess, Norah.” He took her empty hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Aye, get on wit’ ya.” She giggled as she left the room.

“Different’s a good word.” Varric’s voice sounded… thoughtful might have been the most apt description Anders could find.

“I’d have thought the lot of you would be happy not to listen to me harp on mage rights for once.”

“Once, sure. But I don’t think I’ve heard hardly a peep on the topic from those lips in weeks.”

“Varric, is there a point?”

“Just curious. Trying to make up for lost time?”

Anders grinned and sat back as Norah returned with two heaping, steaming bowls of unnamed meat slop. It didn’t matter to the mage if the meal even tasted palatable, just eating was good. He dug in, emptying the first dish before addressing the dwarf.

“Speaking of lost, Varric, if someone were to come to you with a recipe for something very close to, if not the same as, the Qunari powder, how much do you think it would be worth?”

The dwarf choked on his ale. “Are you shitting me, Blondie?”

Anders waggled his brows. “Not even a little. Would you like a small demonstration?”

“Only if you can guarantee you won’t blow up my suite.”

A short laugh peeled from his throat as he pulled the second helping of cooling entrée close. “I can.”

“Then finish your food and amaze me, Anders.”

And so he did.

“Stand back, Varric. I’ve only used a pinch in that bowl, but the stuff is potent.” The mage had placed one of his empty dishes on the far side of the room, a tiny mound of dark powder in its center.

With careful control, Anders called a miniscule flame and sent it at the compound. The blackpowder ignited and incinerated with a small pop, tossing the bowl on its side from the little force produced.

“Holy shit.”

“If you think you can do something with it, I have two non-negotiable stipulations.”

Varric made his way back to the table and Anders smirked at the unsteady gait on the smaller man. “Tell me.”

“First, neither the compound nor the recipe is to end up in Templar hands. I don’t honestly care if you sell it to the Imperium, but those fuckers in the Circle are not to have it.”

Varric nodded. “I think I can manage that. And the second?”

“No one ever knows where you got it from. Ever, Varric.” 

Justice had different plans for the powder, but Anders could not follow through on those. Imagining he’d even considered it, that he’d actually made the stuff and was ready to deliver it to the Chantry was enough to make the mage violently ill. How far had he sunk beneath the weight of Justice/Vengeance, how little of the real Anders had been left, when Neria had freed them both?

He hated the Circle, hated the fucking Chantry and its Templars, and yes, he wanted mages to be free… but he wanted his own freedom more. The idea that he’d nearly positioned himself as some kind of martyr, some kind of renegade terrorist who would give up all that he’d ever longed for, fought for, had his body pillaged for, his mind nearly broken for… Anders snarled to himself, fists curled as a moment of red-hot fury boiled in him.

“You have my word, Blondie.” 

Varric’s agreement allowed the mage to scuttle his anger and turn a cocky grin on the dwarf. “I have more of the prepared powder. Sell it separate from the recipe, to a farmer or someone that won’t be staying in the city. You can have fifteen percent.”

The dwarf smiled. “That’s a nice cut, Blondie. It’ll take me a bit, after all I’m sure this will set up a bidding war like the Merchant’s guild hasn’t seen in three hundred years.”

“Then I should get an excellent price.”

The dwarf laughed. “You’ll be the wealthiest apostate in Thedas and that’s saying something because Hawke has a lot of money. Speaking of our illustrious leader, are you and he?” Varric made a shifting motion between his hands.

Anders smiled. “We were, but not any longer. And that, dear storyteller, is all the fodder I’m giving you today.”

“More than enough, Blondie. More than enough.”

* * *

Anders stepped into the estate and drew up short. “Well look who’s here.”

“Mage.” Fenris’ glare and snarl only made Anders smile.

“Elf. Isn’t it a bit late for moping and brooding? I mean really, it’s dark outside, no one can appreciate your scowls and curled lips with only starlight to see by.”

“ _Venhedis_.”

Anders laughed. “If you’re offering, I could be persuaded.”

The tips of Fenris’ ears heated and his eyes widened.

“Oops! Ah, well, really seven years is an awfully long time to pretend I don’t understand Tevene. I should at least get credit for lasting this long.”

“ _Taedat vos_.”

This only made Anders laugh harder. “Oh, I don’t know, Fenris. Seems you like me well enough, given the right circumstances.”

“Shut up, mage.”

The elf began to glow and Anders put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll quit, for now. Why are you here?”

“I need to speak with Hawke.” 

When Fenris didn’t elaborate, the mage sighed. “If he isn’t here, I can’t say where he might be or when he’ll return.”

“He isn’t with you?”

Anders waved a hand at the room. “Do you see him?”

“ _Fatuus.”_

Anders lifted a brow. “I take offense at that, Elf. I am not an idiot. And if you're going to keep talking to me in Tevene, I'm really going to need to brush up.”

“You are a menace. Abomination or no, you’re a fool who should be locked up, like all your kind.”

“And here I thought we were getting past that.” Anders winked at Fenris just to watch the man squirm. While he’d have enjoyed going a few more rounds with the ex-slave, preferably in bed (though verbal sparring was good too) he had a very trying day and exhaustion pulled at his body and mind. “I’ll leave you to your wait, then. Good night, Fenris.”

He moved to the door, had just pulled it open, when Fenris’ voice stopped him.

“Mage.”

“What?”

"There is something wrong with you.”

Anders rolled his eyes looked over his shoulder. “Why is there something wrong with me?”

"That’s what I asked.” Fenris frowned, his white bangs partially obscuring his features.

“No, you made a statement. If you’re asking, then I’ll tell you nothing is wrong with me.”

"You lie. You are glib and sarcastic, you poke at me constantly with sexual innuendo, you no longer argue for your mages. Something is wrong.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Fenris. I don’t give a fuck what you think about mages. Justice, he did, he couldn’t understand why you refused to see the truth that was right in front of your eyes. Me, I could care less. If it makes you feel better to pretend the mages outside the Imperium have it so good, why should I bother trying to change your mind?

“Besides, I’d much rather turn your ears pink from embarrassment than lyrium-blue a moment before you try to rip my heart out. And despite all the bullshit you spew constantly, Fenris, I find I have no trouble tuning you out. Especially when I’m remembering how you _taste_.”

Thinking it might be a good idea to get the lead out Anders stepped into the house proper, closing the door on the stunned elf’s face.

* * *

The mage might as well have used a glyph of paralysis, for his words glued Fenris’ feet to the floor just as surely.

_“Especially when I’m remembering how you_ taste _.”_

The past rushed over the elf in a tidal wave of hunger and he growled, loudly, fists clenched, body taut. Damn him, damn Anders to the Void! He didn’t know which mage he wanted damned more – the Abomination that had wormed its way under Fenris’ skin in the first place, or the flirtatious, laughing, light-hearted man that had been revealed over the last weeks.

At first, the elf thought the change in Anders demeanor was an affect, a mask put up to hide the loss of his spirit, but as the days passed it became clear that was not the whole truth. In fact, he’d overheard Isabela, only two nights past, tell Varric that Anders seemed more like the apostate she’d met hiding in a brothel than the person the mage had become over the intervening years. When asked which she liked better, Isabela had shrugged and said she thought she liked the Anders of now better than both.

The dwarf had lifted a brow in question, which the pirate replied to with a shrug. “It might seem like he’s gone back to the old Anders, but he hasn’t. There’s still quite a lot of our Anders in there, he’s just hiding it.”

Fenris had turned away from the discussion and pondered the Rivaini’s comment. He didn’t understand why the mage thought the lackadaisical and borderline puerile behavior of late was better than bitter and angry, for both were equally tiresome in the elf’s estimation. It seemed a wasted effort, since Fenris knew the man continued to dedicate himself to the lost and destitute in the undercity and he was certain the mage still helped mages escape the Gallows as well.

What he wouldn’t give for ten minutes with the Warden Commander! A little bit of time, but enough to find out what happened to send the mage running to Kirkwall, to find out if the Anders she’d left them with was clown, foe, or paladin. But Neria Surana had remained in the City of Chains only long enough to reacquaint herself, and her elf, with Isabela and ensure Anders lived and would fully recover. Then she and her entourage had boarded the first ship to Amaranthine, with the promise to return if Anders ever needed her.

_“I won’t let you go on believing I chose to abandon you, Anders. If I could take back what happened, I would. Since I can’t, I give you my oath, should you call, I will come, no matter the reason.”_

Fenris moved to one of the benches in the anteroom of Hawke’s estate. He needed to talk to his friend, to ask for his aid, but his stomach churned with anxiety. Not because he thought Garrett would refuse him, but because there was a chance all the things Fenris had laid in motion would result in the destruction of everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish since he’d escaped Danarius and the Imperium.

The door to the estate opened and Hawke stepped inside, surprise lighting his features as he noted the waiting elf. “Fenris, what brings you here?”

“I apologize for the lateness, Hawke, but I needed to speak with you.”

“No, don’t worry about that. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Fenris merely shrugged. “I had nothing pressing to attend.”

Garrett laughed and motioned for the elf to follow him into the house. “Maker, Fenris, that makes me feel like you’ve been here for a while.”

When Fenris didn’t comment, Hawke shook his head. “Well it must be important then.”

The elf looked around the sitting room, noting the absence of the human’s staff. “It’s about my sister.”

“The one that horrible woman, Hadriana right, the one she mentioned?”

“Yes, the same. I’ve found her, Hawke. She’s not a slave, but a tailor, in Qarinus. I’ve sent her money for passage, and according to Aveline, Varania has arrived in Kirkwall.”

“Alright. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Fenris began to pace. He didn’t know, he was twisted up inside, part hope and part certain of betrayal. “I need you to come with me, Hawke. In case it’s a trap, in case the woman isn’t really my sister, in case-“

“Done, Fenris. I have your back, no matter what.”

A rush of relief forced the air from his lungs in a loud exhale. “Thank you, Hawke. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Garrett turned and leaned back against the desk. “I know what it means to lose your family, Fenris. I know what it’s like to think you have, to be caught in the void while you wait to find out if they’re gone. I’m your friend. Of course I’ll be there with you. And if it is a trap, you won’t be alone. We will end Danarius’ pursuit of you, one way or another. When do you want to meet this Varania?”

“As soon as possible. She’ll be here, at the Hanged Man, for the next week at least. Again, thank you, Hawke.” Fenris turned to leave, then looked back at Garrett. “The mage returned not long ago.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, I suppose.” Hawke sifted through the mail, separating notes into different piles.

Fenris frowned. The man’s response was not what he’d thought it would be. “You suppose? Has something happened?”

“Hmm? What?” Hawke paused to consider what the elf asked. “Um, no, well nothing bad. Why?”

“I, well, I thought- Never mind, it is none of my affair.”

Garrett looked up, his gaze locking on to Fenris. “Anders and I aren’t together any longer. That’s all. We still care for each other, but things change, sometimes people too.”

Fenris knew he was blushing. He had to leave. “I see. I will be ready to visit the Hanged Man when you are.”

Hawke nodded with a small smile on his lips. “Sounds good, Fenris.”

With a small bow the elf made his way from Hawke’s home to his own, fighting the surge of elation at Garrett’s confession and the corresponding ire he felt at his foolish reaction. Whether or not Anders was an abomination mattered little. He was still a mage, still a danger… and still the one thing Fenris wanted so badly it nearly consumed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tag... you're cockblocked.

_*Zip*_

The crackle of power, the smell of ozone, and a throaty laugh from Isabela had Fenris two breaths from turning around and knocking the mage unconscious.

“Anders! Mmm, so naughty!”

“I aim to please, lovely, lovely Isabela.”

“Stop distracting me. Hawke said if we could get to that damn peddler in good time, we’d have a bit of a break on the beach.”

“Hmm, sand really isn’t conducive to fun, Bela. It gets everywhere.”

“Don’t I know it. We could always skinny dip, instead.”

“I like the way you think.” Anders laughed softly, the husky note in his voice tightening parts of Fenris’ body he wished he could forget existed. “Ow! Damn it. What the hell is so important we’re trudging the Wounded Coast for again? Go away fly!”

The elf smirked as he swished his hand through the air to swat away his own bothersome attackers.

“Come on, you three! I wouldn’t mind a swim myself!” Garrett yelled over his shoulder and Fenris quickened his pace.

“Now we’re running? Maker, the things I do for that man.”

“Do tell.” Isabela’s flirty rejoinder drew yet more laughter from the mage.

“Not a chance in Thedas. At least not with _him_ so close. The poor elf would perish from mortification.”

Fenris went ridged and slowly pivoted on heel.

Isabela’s eyes were wide. “I think I’ll just catch up to Hawke.”

Anders’ gaze didn’t even flicker from the elf’s as he called after her quickly retreating form, “Chicken shit!”

“Mage.”

“Elf.”

“You test my patience.”

Anders crossed his arms over his chest and Fenris tried not to notice how the leather vest tightened over the heavier muscles of his body. As the Warden Commander demanded, the mage had spent the time since the Deep Roads eating regularly and it had thickened him in all the right ways. Between the mercenary work he did with Hawke, and lifting and toting patients all day in the clinic, the man no longer looked undernourished and sickly.

“Oh well.” Anders dropped his arms and started to walk past the elf. “Actually…” The mage paused by Fenris’ shoulder and before the elf could come up with a proper retort, Anders lifted his hand and sent an arc of electricity from his finger straight into the tip of his left ear.

“You’re it!” 

Anders bolted like his ass was on fire, but all Fenris could do was try to keep himself upright. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain cascaded over him from that burst of magic, and he staggered to steady his legs. The sensation didn’t last long, and as the last ebb rolled away, the elf whirled around and bellowed a battle cry.

“Mage!”

* * *

“Mage!”

Anders churned his legs faster. He recognized that sound, it was the one Fenris made right before he swung the behemoth of a sword he toted, disemboweling, dismembering, and decapitating their enemies.

“Oh, shit!” He had no idea what had possessed him… He’d finally cracked, lost his blighted mind.

“Anders? What the-“ Hawke jerked Isabela out of his way and Anders tried to give them a little wave as he flew past the pair.

“No time!”

The mage counted the seconds in his head until he heard Hawke address his pursuer.

“Fenris? Fenris! Do NOT kill Anders!”

 _Damn it, less than a five count._ He was going to need some help at the rate the elf was gaining on him. Without looking over his shoulder, Anders let a grease spell fly and prayed it would buy him some time.

“ _Fasta vass_!”

He started laughing and took the sharp bend in the path leading both toward the magus Hawke sought as well as a nice, empty, dark cave where he could hide until Hawke and Isabela calmed the elf down. The ground passed beneath his long strides in a blur of brown and sage green.

“You are being pursued?” The magus looked past Anders as the mage turned right toward the mouth of the cave.

“He’s it!” Anders shouted back. He didn’t hear the other man’s reply.

Plunging into the mouth of the cave, the mage took a quick survey of the area. There was a flight of stairs to the right and if Anders remembered correctly, it led to a large, open room, with plenty of places to hide. Mind made, he dashed for the steps, nearly tripping down the entire set in his haste.

He stopped at the bottom and shot a look behind him, but saw no sign of the elf. Certain that did not mean he was safe, he sprinted down more stairs, through corridors, and along a wooden walkway until he came to the large cavern he remembered. Racing to the far side of the room, he hid himself behind a natural wall the jutted out from a stone doorway he knew did not open.

His breathing was unnaturally loud and he tried to slow both his lungs and his heart, ears straining to catch even the softest whisper of strange sound. Anders waited and waited and waited, fear beginning to trickle in behind the waning adrenaline. Hawke wouldn’t leave him alone, would he? No, Garrett wouldn’t do that.

The creak of wood made his heart jolt in his chest and the mage crouched down, pressing himself to wall, inching toward the edge just enough so he could see around the corner.

“I know you’re in here, mage.” Fenris strode over the bridge, hands working at the clasps of his gauntlets. He paused inside one of the small room-like spaces built into the platform, setting the clawed armor on a wooden crate.

Something very dark and very hungry coursed through Anders at the sight of Fenris pulling off his protection. First the gauntlets, then his sword, then the chest plate, until the elf was left in his black leggings and an equally dark short sleeved tunic.

“Hawke made me swear not to kill you. He did, however, give me his blessing on beating your ass. The longer you make me wait, the worse this will be.”

Anders lifted his brows. Watching Fenris carefully, he couldn’t stop the reply rising unbidden to his lips. “Exactly what kind of ass beating are we talking about? Black eyes or an inability to sit?”

He smirked when the elf flushed. “Mage, you are going to regret that.”

Deciding it was pointless to keep hiding, since he had effectively cornered himself, Anders stood and moved into the larger space. 

“I doubt it. You’re so adorable when you get flustered, Fenris. Has anyone ever told you that?”

As expected, the elf snarled and lunged for Anders, but the mage sidestepped and put a stone column between them.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that. Oh, nice try!” The mage dashed across the cavern laughing merrily as the elf tried to out flank him.

“Anders, by the Maker, I am going to throttle you.”

He stumbled, he couldn’t help it. The elf used his actual name. And Fenris capitalized, the bastard, slamming into the back of him, smashing both of their bodies into the hard ground beneath their feet.

Anders grunted as the air whooshed from his lungs and tried to roll onto his back or side, anything to get some leverage, but Fenris locked his knees on either side of his hips, his ass pressing hard against the mage’s lower back, and grabbed Anders wrists, pulling his arms behind his back, putting his weight on the joints to keep the human pinned in place.

Anders laughed. “I suppose I’m it now?”

“If you have even the smallest bit of sense, close your lips.”

Turning his head against the dirt, Anders let his body relax. “It’s going to a bit difficult for you to extract punishment this way. As soon as you let go, I’ll be free.”

Fenris’ breaths were loud and harsh above him and Anders wiggled beneath his weight, trying to see the elf’s face. He certainly hadn’t seemed all that winded when he’d entered the cavern. The shifting changed the elf’s hold on his wrists and Anders own breath caught when the bared flesh of Fenris’ fingers curled against his skin.

“Stop. Moving.” That tone was one Anders recognized, but it was certainly not one he’d ever… that wasn’t true. The night in the clinic, Fenris had sounded exactly the same.

He was courting real trouble here, especially since Anders suspected if he opened this can of worms it might lead to something he wasn’t sure he could handle. On the flip side, Hawke said they’d be going to meet the elf’s sister in the morning. If that were the case and things turned ugly… _Fuck it_.

With control only one who knew their body exceptionally well could hope to wield, Anders contracted his stomach muscles while flexing his spine, effectively rolling his body beneath the elf’s, lifting upward to press Fenris’ pelvis harder against his back. The unmistakable feel of hard cock rubbed his spine and Anders had to swallow a smile. “Fenris, are you aroused?”

The elf made a strangled sound and the mage was dizzied by how fast he found himself rolled onto his back, arms stretched above his head, wrists pinned to the ground with punishing strength. He blinked to reorient himself, looking into dark green eyes as he lifted his hips, causing Fenris’ erection to bump against his stomach.

“Stop. Stop.”

“I don’t think you want me to stop, Fenris. I think you want me to push, just a bit more,” another roll of his pelvis, “just enough to break that control. Just enough that later you can claim temporary madness when you try to justify the insanity of wanting a _mage_.”

His prick was beginning to ache, caught as it was in the tight vee of his leather breeches. As he stared at Fenris’ face, full lips parted as he struggled to get enough air, eyes closed against Anders’ gaze, he felt himself tremble. _Maker, his intensity is more erotic than anything I’ve ever seen._

Every second that passed with the elf holding him down and fighting against himself stoked the flames of need in Anders until he couldn’t stop the roll of his hips or the small moan that spilled from his lips. Eyes the color of pine opened, and the elf snapped, lunging forward, mouth covering Anders’ with a ferocity that stole his breath and had him straining against the hands keeping him captive.

* * *

It was the sound that broke him. 

The soft, low moan, an echo of a memory and Fenris simply could not fight any more. He fell on the mage like an animal, he knew he did, all sharp teeth and wet tongue and hot breath, releasing the man’s wrists so he could bury his fingers in the rusted-gold of his hair, pulling his face closer, tongue shoving past teeth, moaning into that mouth as the taste of Anders hit his palate, making him dizzy, pooling more blood painfully between his legs.

The mage hesitated only a moment before Fenris felt his long fingers digging into his hips, pulling the elf closer to his body, the muscles of the human’s stomach contracting as he sat up, those hands leaving his hips to travel over his back, finding and gripping the tops of his shoulders with harsh strength as Anders returned Fenris’ wild passion in equal measure, with the same uncontrolled hunger.

A sharp tug at the back of his head, the mage tearing his mouth roughly from Fenris’ to taste his jaw, chin, throat, those white teeth and hot tongue moving toward the shell of his ear. The elf twisted against the man, the sensations Anders evoked making him delirious.

“I want you, Fenris.”

He almost lost it, then, the sound of Anders voice, exactly as he’d imagined it a thousand times in the dark of night, when he was moonstruck, caught between the edge of dreams and the beginning of fantasy. Fenris tightened his hold on the silken strands beneath his fingers and pulled the mage back, needing his mouth, needing his tongue more than he needed freedom, more than he needed air.

“Ahem, so sorry to interrupt-“ 

Garrett’s voice boomed in the cave and Fenris tried to throw himself from Anders, but the mage refused to allow it, powerful arms wrapping around his back and hips, holding him tightly pressed both to the human’s erection and his heaving chest.

“Hawke, you are the biggest _cockblock_ I have ever met.” The mage pressed his forehead to Fenris’ shoulder and gave a shaky laugh.

The elf was almost frantic, embarrassed beyond measure, which only served to make Fenris terribly angry, but Anders still wouldn’t release him. Instead, he murmured a soft, crooning whisper against the elf’s neck, the hand on the top of his back pressing in small circles, and Fenris found himself relaxing, the panic welling inside dissipating with each pass of Anders' palm over his spine.

“Bela and I will give you a minute to collect yourselves, but we need to get back to Kirkwall. We have things to do tomorrow.”

Fenris opened his eyes and watched Garrett’s back disappear through the door and tried to control the shaking in his muscles.

“Take it easy, Fenris. It’s alright. Before I let you go, and you storm off in an angry exit, I want you to know I meant what I said.” Anders lifted his face and the elf looked into amber colored eyes, pupils dilated and swirling with so many emotions Fenris didn’t understand or recognize. 

And then he was free and it was Fenris’s turn to bolt, racing for his gear, strapping armor on in a rush, before fleeing the way Hawke had left.

* * *

Anders flopped onto his back and flung an arm over his eyes. Maker he was so hard the pressure of his laces were cutting into his cock. He listened to Fenris gather his things and rush from the room and while it didn’t surprise him… honestly, that was about the only thing that didn’t surprise him in the entire event.

He smirked at himself as he rolled to his feet and slowly followed the others. His whole body was shaking, not just because he’d been damn close to losing it from kissing the elf alone, but because in his entire life, Anders could not remember being wanted, or wanting, with the kind of manic, overwhelming, and utterly uninhibited, savage intensity he had just experienced.

Not even with Hawke had he been that wild, hot, primal. He’d wanted to claw furrows in the elf’s body, press his teeth into that olive-toned flesh and draw blood, pound his cock into what he knew would be the hottest, tightest ass he’d ever had the pleasure of fucking. But what had him hovering on the brink of orgasm was that he sensed Fenris wanted to do the exact same thing to him.

To mark him, conquer him, claim him and Anders realized he would have gladly, happily, ecstatically allowed Fenris to do exactly that… and more. Anything and everything. And that scared the shit out of the mage, more than the Templars, more than losing himself to a Fade Spirit, more than being made Tranquil.

Taking slow breaths, he lifted one foot and then the other, ascending the stairs toward the surface with a measured pace. He needed time to get himself together, not because he was worried Fenris would jump on him as soon as he appeared, but because he was afraid he would attack the elf and finish what they started. And if that wasn’t madness, considering how terrified he was by the depth of his revealed need for Fenris, then Anders didn’t know what was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the Void! Reader discretion for freakin' angst ahead. Cheese and crackers, LOL! Also, many thanks to Katiebour and her wonderful elvhen dictionary. I finally got to use some of the lovely 'Suledin' in a work.

“You are no longer my master!” Fenris lifted Danarius off his feet, giving the magister a bit of a shake as he wrenched his spine in two before flinging the corpse away and storming to confront his sister.

“I had no choice, Leto.” The elven woman cowered before her brother’s obvious wrath.

“Stop calling me that!”

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister.”

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?”

Anders wasn’t sure his eyes could get any wider. Looking at the terrified elf woman, though, it was like the last piece of a puzzle finally made its way onto the board. He’d always wondered how Fenris could possibly have survived having all that raw lyrium branded into his skin. No one could survive that, not even a dwarf.

Well, no one but a mage whose magic had been twisted to feed into the ore, leaving the being no longer able to use spells, instead turning the body into a living, self-sustaining casting. Or Fenris could have latent talent that was squashed beneath the power of the brands, likely manifesting the only way it could by constantly healing the elf’s body. The first seemed the most realistic, but the latter explained Fenris’ advanced ability to recover from, and sustain, a great deal of damage. _Perhaps it was a bit of both?_

The errant Warden bit his lip, silently pondering the possibilities, but maintaining a close eye on the scene unfolding before him. Part of him thought it was a bit funny in an ironic, not ha-ha fashion, finding out that Fenris probably came from mage blood, that he might even be a mage himself, considering how often he ranted about the dangers, the subversions, the degenerate natures of _all mages_.

But a greater part of Anders couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel a painful constriction in his chest as the truth was revealed. He watched Hawke and Varric talk Fenris out of killing the woman, heard her tell Fenris she thought he got the better end of the deal. She explained he’d fought to receive those markings, how he’d used his boon to free her and their mother. And how the two women Fenris had obviously loved above all others, including himself, had suffered horribly under the ‘burden’ of freedom.

Anders watched her leave and turned back to the elf, saw Fenris as vulnerable as he was sure he ever had and curled his hands at his sides to stop from reaching out for the man.

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging. But magic has tainted that too. There’s nothing for me to remember, nothing to reclaim. I am alone.”

Hawke stepped forward and Anders watched Garrett fight the same battle he was. “Fenris, you have friends.”

The elf didn’t quite snarl, but it was a near thing. “Yes, my only friend is a _mage_.”

Those words stung and Anders drew a sharp breath. “Are you seriously going to bitch about having _mages_ that care about you, that support you, that fight,” he gestured to the collection of bodies, blood and bones scattered around the bar, “with you, for you? Because we’re mages, so our friendship is worthless? Fuck you, Fenris!”

It was a blighted waste of his time, and he’d sworn to himself with Justice gone, he wouldn’t bother to try and convince anyone that mages and magic weren’t evil by nature, they weren’t some sort of sin against the Maker, but damn it all…

Anders didn’t wait for a reply, or a rebuttal, or a snide aside. He turned away from the group and left the way he’d come. He’d had about enough of Kirkwall, mage-haters and blood mages and fucking Templars and brooding elves, as he could stand. Slamming the door felt good, but punching the first person who pissed him off sounded even better and the mage stalked deeper into the city, looking for some ass that fit the bill to take his anger, his aching heart, and his frustration out on.

* * *

“Are you seriously going to bitch about having _mages_ that care about you, that support you, that fight with you, for you? Because we’re mages, so our friendship is worthless? Fuck you, Fenris!”

Anders turned on heel and stalked out of the Hanged Man, slamming the heavy wooden door hard enough to shake dust loose from the ceiling and make Fenris, as well as Hawke and Varric, jump in response.

The elf was betrayed and furious, but now ashamed as well, which only made everything worse. He spared a glance at Hawke and saw the other man was also hurt by his callous words. He ground his teeth together and tried to swallow back the hate threatening to choke him to death. “I am sorry, Hawke. I should not have said that.”

“No, Fenris, you shouldn’t have. But I understand how upset you must be right now. And I forgive your words. But sometimes, Maker, Fenris, sometimes you make it a lesson in self-flagellation being your friend.” With a soft sigh, the other mage left, though quieter than Anders had.

“Do you want a pint, Elf?”

“I… I feel unclean as if magic isn’t just carved into my flesh, but stains my soul. I need to get out of here.”

Varric nodded but said nothing as Fenris slowly made his way past the carnage of his past and into the chaos of a future that was his own making. He opened the door and stepped into the afternoon light, feeling lost, cast adrift, and so _angry_ he wanted to scream.

The air in Lowtown smelled of hot metal and ash, with traces of salt and fish as a distasteful undercurrent. Fenris looked to the left and right and decided to let his feet move him of their accord. He didn’t wander far, finding himself in the one place he hated most in Kirkwall: The Alienage.

As he made his way to the massive tree at the center of the city elves home, a harsh sob caught his sensitive hearing and his gaze snapped toward the blood mage’s lodging. In the open doorway, he saw Garrett, arms wrapped around Merrill, her hands moving in soothing patterns over his back. The big human stepped back a bit, rubbing the fingers of one hand over his eyes.

“Are we really that bad? So awful, just because we were born with magic, that he loathes all of us so much, he truly can’t possibly see we aren’t all abominations-in-the-making? That all mages don’t want to be magisters or to rule the world? Most of us just want to live in peace, to be able to marry, to have children, to do all the stupid shit everyone else in Thedas can do without a thought, without a worry.”

“I don’t think so, Garrett. Fenris is hurting, has good reason to. Come inside, _’ma vhenan_. We will talk of happier things until your heart is eased.”

Fenris felt ill to his core. A burning sensation built in his nose and behind his eyes and he spun away and ran, headlong toward the stairs that led to the docks. So long had he used his hate of Danarius and his ilk as a defense and an accusation, so long he relied on a sharp tongue and a sharper sword… So long, since he’d met Hawke – a mage who never wanted for power or tried to gather it. Years he’d watched Anders work himself into dangerous exhaustion for no reward, no gain, not even a copper accepted for saving lives, giving the food from his own plate and the clothes off his back to those beyond destitute. So much time, years where he’d been proven wrong time and again and he still couldn’t stop, couldn’t free his spirit from the chains he’d forged himself.

* * *

Anders looked around the clinic and had a moment of absolute gratitude for Neria Surana. While he’d been away helping an ungrateful elf, the Templars had torn his clinic apart. They destroyed everything, there was absolutely nothing left to salvage. He looked down at the well-worn red fabric in his hand and curled his fist around the only remnant he had of a family, of his mother’s love.

The small pillow had been shredded, cut apart and stomped with filth covered boots. He wanted to cry, Maker the sobs were piling up Sundermount high in his chest, but he knew if he started he might be utterly mad by the time he finished. As he tried to take it in, to accept that his clinic would never be again, he was glad for Justice’s absence, because if he’d still been possessed, this would have been the last straw. Anders would have given in to Vengeance and been a passenger in his own mind as the twisted spirit cut a path of violence and death all the way to the Gallows and beyond.

“What has happened here?”

_By Andraste, I cannot handle Fenris. Not now!_

Anders clenched his jaw and almost ignored the elf. “In case you somehow missed it, Fenris, the Templars really, really hate apostates. Especially ones that continue to elude capture. Apparently, they also hate poor, sick, dying people.”

“Go to Hawke. He will help you-“

“If I know Hawke – and I do – he’s with Merrill right now, hoping to find a little comfort. Besides, it’s a wasted effort. Even Hawke can’t replace everything that’s been lost. But hey, it’s probably a good thing, right? Now I won’t be able to confuse everyone by pretending to do good and act selflessly. Damn the Templars, they’ve ruined my plan to secretly take over Kirkwall by killing myself saving people!” Anders threw his hands up in the air and turned toward Fenris a playful smirk on his lips, but with every bit of malice he felt filling his gaze.

Tucking the ravaged piece of cloth in his fist, the mage made his way over broken cots and potion bottles toward the door. He really had had enough of this place. The fucking Deep Roads held more appeal than wasting another precious minute of his life in Kirkwall.

“Anders-“

He jerked back, making damn sure the elf didn’t touch him. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, _Elf_.”

He opened the second door just to ensure he didn’t get any closer to Fenris and walked through, back into the sewers, hands shaking as he clung to what was left of his control. _Where to go? A ship to Antiva, maybe? Back to Amaranthine?_ It didn’t matter, he couldn’t go anywhere right then. He needed money, which meant returning to the tavern and hoping Varric was there. And even if he took ship, it would be at least a day, maybe more, before he could leave.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. He supposed he could go to the estate, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with being boxed inside those walls as agitated as he was.

He heard soft footfalls behind him and pivoted. “Look, maybe you didn’t get the hint. Go the fuck away, Fenris. I’ve had about all I can take today.”

“If the Templars did that, then they are actively hunting you. I will stay.”

Anders felt it, the moment he lost it, and it was like being back inside Justice, locked away in his own mind, as he watched his hand lash out, without magic, and wrap around Fenris’ long, delicate neck. 

He slammed the elf into the nearest wall, fingers tightening, rage tearing through him. “I don’t need you! Do you understand? There is nothing left for me to lose, nothing left for them to **take**!”

Fenris didn’t flinch at his bellow. He didn’t struggle against the crushing pressure at his throat, and his brands remained dormant. Maybe that was it, maybe looking into those eyes that reminded him of the tall pines of his homeland, open and calm, Anders didn’t know. But he went from murderous fury to gut-wrenching sobs, his fingers slipping from the tender flesh of the elf’s neck, to bury against the unforgiving strength of Fenris’ armor as his knees gave way and he buckled beneath the pressure within and without.

Arms so much stronger than they appeared came around his back, pulled him painfully close to the hard ridge of the breast plate, kept him off the filthy floor of the undercity. Tugged him upward as he wailed, shifting their hold until the elf swept his legs and cradled Anders to his chest. Later, he’d recall this moment with laughter, the sight they must have made as Fenris carried him toward one of the many coastal exits littering Darktown.

He felt the elf’s lyrium ignite as the smaller man made his way through darkened tunnels and out of the city, smelled the salt air of the sea when they emerged somewhere beyond the City of Chains, but he couldn’t lift his face from Fenris’ neck, couldn’t stop choking and coughing as tears poured out, of anguish and grief and wrath.

Anders felt Fenris lower them to the ground, but was too distraught to move his own limbs, instead letting the elf situate them until they were settled to Fenris’ content. And then there were hands, pressing against his back, running over the top of his head and the elf began to rock, a gentle motion, followed by the softest strains of a song.

” _Melava inan enansal, ir su araval tu elvaral, u na emma abelas. In elgar sa vir mana, in tu setheneran din emma na._ ”

Fenris had a beautiful voice and though Anders didn’t understand the words, the music alone eased him, as much as the tight hold of the elf’s arms, and the comforting stroke of his hands. Anders hiccoughed, wanting to find some composure and failing, digging his fingers into Fenris’ shoulders.

The words stopped, but the elf continued to hum and rock and Anders, spent to the last of his energy, let himself drift away, sheltered in Fenris’ embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just in case - reader's might want tissues.

Fenris looked down at the mage, the man, in his arms and tried very hard not to cry himself. He’d been holding Anders for hours, the sun having dipped low in the sky, but still he couldn’t pry his hands free, refused to set the human’s larger body aside. In truth, he clung just as hard to Anders as the mage had to him in those horrible, terrifying moments after his hand had crushed the air from the elf’s throat as he’d unleashed all the bitterness inside onto Fenris.

He knew almost nothing of comfort, but when the man had collapsed against him, hand shifting from throat to shoulder, fingers like claws scrambling for purchase, knees giving way, Fenris had followed an instinct he didn’t think he had. He’d pulled the mage to him, lifted him into his arms as if Anders were tiny and delicate and gone the only place he thought might be safe.

The swatch of red fabric curled against the mage’s palm drew his eye and stirred a memory. A visit to the clinic, Anders talking with Varric, the dwarf pushing a small, worn pillow back into the mage’s hands, a precious gift offered as a token of the value of their friendship. He remembered the story teller explaining later the cushion was the only thing Anders had been allowed to take from his home when the Templars came to escort him to the Circle. A present embroidered by the man’s mother, a small reminder that he’d once been free and freely loved.

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut against the deluge of moisture. He had so few memories of his mother, a tiny elvhen woman with deep red hair and clear green eyes. Seeing Varania had unleashed more of the hidden pieces of his past, and though his heart ached at her betrayal, so fresh – but hours old – he couldn’t imagine how he would feel if by his own hand he’d destroyed the last piece of his family, if Varric and Hawke hadn’t stopped him from taking that last, vile step.

Looking at that tattered bit of cloth, though, he realized that was exactly what Anders suffered. Perhaps he hadn’t torn the pillow to bits, but it was the very nature of his status as an apostate, the fact that he’d operated a free clinic in full view of the Templars, that had led to its demise. And why? Simply because the Templars could do as they willed in the search for mages outside their control. Those men and women had destroyed a place of safety and healing for no better reason than it was run by an apostate mage.

His insides twisted and writhed, rejecting the nebulous, putrid hate strangling him – loathing rooted in fear, its very existence preventing Fenris from moving forward. He gagged and his stomach rebelled. With hands far steadier than he felt, the elf relinquished his hold on Anders, gently laying the mage on the loose, sandy ground, and moved a small distance away, hoping the sound of his violent retching wouldn’t rouse the exhausted man.

He hadn’t eaten in some time, so it was acidic bile that he expelled onto the shifting grains beneath his fingers. It burned his throat, mouth, and lips as Fenris finally began to purge the poison he’d poured down his gullet, allowed to fester inside for ages. As his stomach cramped painfully, the elf holding his body up on knees and one palm, the other curved over his belly, he understood this was the physical expulsion of a metaphysical taint. 

Never good with words, socially inept and often awkward, Fenris didn’t know if he’d ever be able to speak all the phrases that might release him, which would exorcise long held intolerance and terror, but this- vomit and knotted muscles and violent spasms- this he knew, this he recognized and embraced. A slave knew pain, punishment, persecution and they learned to find absolution in the empty space between suffering and solace. Perhaps he was no longer enslaved, but some lessons were well learned.

His abdomen began to throb, the contractions of the organ inside twisting the outer layer of muscles, but still he could not cease. Hacking, choking, struggling to stay as quiet as possible, he started to shake, felt moisture seep past the tightly clenched lids of his eyes. Faintly he heard Anders move, fought to breathe when the press of a warm hand stroked over the middle of his back, followed by the blessed cool of healing magic.

“Maker, Fenris, what happened?” 

Despite everything, regardless that Fenris least of all deserved it, the concern and compassion in Anders' voice, in the gentle caress of his fingers, shamed the elf even while it poured salvation into his spirit. He coughed again, stomach twisting one last time, and shook his head, unable to explain to Anders.

“Shh, hey, slow, deep breaths. Take it easy. Andraste’s tits man, did you eat something you shouldn’t have?”

A harsh, rusted bark of a laugh exploded from Fenris. _Truer words, mage._ He swayed and Anders steadied him, easing the elf onto his side, in case the need to purge returned. Fenris kept his eyes squeezed shut, each trickle of moisture that escaped unbinding things too long tangled. His head spun and behind closed lids, colors began to dance.

“Mage.” His throat hurt as he swallowed around the word.

“Elf?”

“You’re it.” Fenris felt the corner of his mouth lift a moment before he gave in to the swirling light.

* * *

“Fenris?” 

He touched the elf’s forehead, making certain there was no fever. When the other man didn’t stir, Anders cursed beneath his breath.

“Really, elf, you have shitty timing.” The mage groaned as he took his feet, his body weakened by the emotional trauma he’d been through. 

Looking at their surroundings, Anders tried to remember this particular patch of coast. Nothin he saw sparked recognition, but considering how similar the entire coast seemed to be, he walked the paths, collecting wood and mapping it in his mind as best he could. Luckily, he found a shallow cave; its mouth concealed by desiccated wood and dried scrub grasses.

Clearing the opening, the smell of damp, of cool liquid tickled his nose and Anders called a spell wisp for light. At the back of the natural shelter, water seeped from the stone. A touch of his tongue proved it to be potable and the mage smiled. They might not have food, but at least there was fresh water.

Turning around in the space, Anders made quick work of the detritus on the floor, piling the bits of moss and dry leaves and stems to one side before lying his kindling out to start a fire. A spark followed by the sound of crackling branches and the space was lit with a soft orange glow. Satisfied, he left to gather the elf. Kirkwall wasn’t nearly as cold as Ferelden, but on the sandy shores, more often than not night came with a sharp, moist chill. 

He strolled past the silent body of the elf, lip curling at the congealing puddle of sick. He kicked sand over the mess, unsure what had brought Fenris to such violent spewing. Dropping to one knee, he pressed one hand to the elf’s shoulder and shook him gently.

“Up and at ‘em, Fenris.”

For his effort he received only the barest response. Shaking his head, he moved to gather the elf into his arms. “Really, elf, I’m all for rescuing damsels in distress, but this tit for tat has to stop.”

No retort moved the lips he’d dreamed of the night before, a mouth he’d tasted only a day ago. Ignoring the direction of his thoughts, Anders adjusted his burden and ferried the elf to their temporary shelter. Inside the cave, he set Fenris on the ground, close enough to be warmed by the fire without overheating, and then the mage set out to try and find something edible. Looking out across the sea, he smiled to himself. Even if he could land a fish, the elf had a rather powerful dislike for the flesh of sea dwellers.

It took a bit of careful searching, but he managed to find wild onion and garlic on opposite sides of the rocky landing, as well as several chicory plants. Anders grinned as he harvested the chicory in total, popping a couple of the pale blue flowers to snack on as he continued to search. The exit from the city was up an incline and while climbing it, Anders managed to jump a rabbit. A flash burst of lighting killed the hare and the man gave a silent prayer of thanks for its sacrifice.

The action wasn’t Andrastian, but over his life Anders’ philosophy had grown out of time spent with other people. He’d heard the tales of the Chasind, listened to Velanna speak of the _elvhen_ Creators, or Oghren and Sigrun expound on the virtues of the Ancestors. Courting the edge of thirty four winters, he figured all life was interwoven and offering thanks for a life ended so his own might not seemed right.

Looking at all he’d collected, Anders was satisfied it would get them through the night and allow them some to break their fast in the morning. Trudging toward the cave, his mind drifted back to the clinic, to Danarius, to the tension pulled so taut in Kirkwall the city seethed and rolled on the verge of chaos.

His time in the City of Chains hadn’t all been for naught, he supposed, though the mage felt he’d accomplished very little beyond managing to remain free these seven years. It was well and good, the longest he’d been unshackled since discovering his magic, but Anders was tired, so very tired of constantly fighting, endlessly running, forever hiding. Though he’d spoken of it in the abstract once, with Hawke, the truth was Anders wanted a family. He wanted children to teach his magic, longed to hear the name ‘papa’ from tiny mouths for whom the word was paramount to love.

He snorted at himself as he dipped beneath the lip of the cave’s entrance. Considering his tastes ran more strongly to those built without certain important apparatus, children of his blood were unlikely, but the man found the idea of raising magelings abandoned to the fates just as compelling, just as fulfilling to his secret dream. And he wanted someone to share all of it with, another person to shoulder the burdens gladly, to hold him when the nightmares became unbearable, to go with him, fight beside him, when his Calling beckoned him into the dark for the last time.

He sat and began preparing the roots and plants, setting the rabbit aside for last, and found his gaze drifting to the elf. Fenris was precisely the last person Anders should even think, in passing, might fit into his fantasy and yet… He could imagine those hands, gentle and tender, wiping away tears brought to life by a small scrape or the harsh word of another.

He closed his eyes, remembering how the elf held him, rocking him, easing Anders in a way no one had since he was a child. He could see the soft smiles, hear words of encouragement for a goal met, a feat accomplished. Anders knew the elf was closed off, but he’d had a taste of what Fenris hid behind all that control. If his passion ran half as deep, half as strong, as the love the man knew was there, there might never be another better suited to Anders in all of Thedas.

Shaking his head at the silliness of his daydreaming, the mage set aside the herbs and roots and searched for a small knife to begin cleaning the hare. He didn’t have one, but looking across to the elf, he spied a dagger at Fenris’ waist. He moved to take it, and found his wrist caught in lyrium-lined fingers.

Looking up, he met the heavy-lidded gaze of the elf. “Hello, Fenris. Might I borrow your dagger? I’m much rather eat a skinned and cleaned rabbit, if it’s all the same to you.”

The elf grunted but released him, somewhat. Fingers relaxed, but the hand stayed close, warm skin brushing warm skin as Anders retrieved the tool. He pulled away, trying to ignore the reluctance of his will, and set to the task at hand. He was efficient; the movements almost instinct for he’d had plenty of practice. Soon enough, the small animal was ready to be spitted and placed over the fire.

“You’re very good at that.” Fenris’ voice was soft, scratchy and a bit raw sounding.

Anders gathered the vegetables and made his way to the back of the cave, where he first washed his hands then the flora before replying. “Well, there isn’t exactly a food-preparation spell, Elf. And spending too much time in habited places makes it a touch easier for Templars to find a body. If I wanted to eat when I was on the run, I had to learn how to feed myself.”

The mage cut small slits in the skin of the rabbit, placing bits of garlic and onion inside, then found a stick to serve as a spit, before putting the whole thing over the dancing flames.

“Anders, I should-“

The human held up his hand. “How about, for right now, we call it even? Let’s pretend, at least for a while, that we’ve been adventuring with Hawke and got separated. A few hours stuck together and then we’ll be out of each other’s hair.”

Fenris frowned, it was obvious he wanted to argue.

“Please, Fenris. I think we’re both a bit raw.”

Something flashed in the elf’s eyes and the wrinkle at his brow eased. “As you wish. What is that?” He motioned to the pile of blue flowers Anders had in front of him.

“Chicory flowers. They’re delicious. And the root, here, is also quite tasty, especially when it’s cooked. I prefer to boil it,” he laid the bare stems at the edge of the fire, “but this way is good too.” Anders gathered a few of the blooms and passed them to the elf. “Try it.”

* * *

Fenris looked at his palm and tried to remember if he’d ever eaten flowers before. If he had, he couldn’t recall it, but he watched the mage put two of the blue corollas in his mouth. With a bit of skepticism, Fenris followed suit, and was surprised. The blossoms were indeed palatable, very in fact.

“I told you. Kind of peppery. Maybe a little like licorice, but not quite. The roots definitely are more like anise, but woodier and that balances it out.”

“I am not familiar with licorice or anise.”

“What? You’ve never had a licorice candy? I don’t care for it, but Fenris, that’s almost criminal.”

“Slaves do not receive sweets. And I find I’m not very adventurous when it comes to food. Too many times I was forced to eat meat near spoiled or given meals purposefully foul tasting by design.”

Anders was quiet for a few moments. “That’s… well, that’s shitty. I mean, food in the Circle was made as bland and plain as possible and usually tasted like a cross between wood shavings and grass, but it was never rotten.”

Fenris inclined his head. “I’ve eaten rabbit, but not like this. What did you put inside it?”

“Wild onion and garlic. Fenris, you were on the run from Danarius for years before you came to Kirkwall. Do you mean to tell me you don’t know how to forage for food?”

“Where you looked for isolation, I found it was easier to get lost in a city than it was to hide in the forests. And there was never a reason for me to learn plants and roots. I was a bodyguard, a warrior, not a cook.”

Anders chuckled and Fenris frowned. “What’s so funny, mage?”

“You. Do you know, sometimes you sound so…. So arrogant, almost pompous. ‘I was a bodyguard, not a cook.’ And the way you speak, utterly cultured, very few contractions, diction precise and clear. You’re a walking contradiction, Fenris. Sometimes, like now, those juxtapositions are humorous.” The mage paused to check the meal. “I’m not laughing _at_ you, Fenris. More because of you, the puzzle you present.”

The elf shifted but didn’t comment. He wasn’t sure what to make of Anders words. Danarius had required him to speak properly, forced him to train with blade and body for long hours each day, and he refused to let his ‘little wolf’ interact with the ‘lesser’ slaves, afraid their unworthiness might somehow mar his precious Fenris. 

Perhaps the mage was right. After all, he knew how to properly use all the utensils at a formal dinner, had an excellent palate for wines, could take the measure of an individual based on the thread used in their clothing, the polish on their armor. He was adept at selecting prime horseflesh and could design and oversee the forging of the strongest, most resilient of blades.

And yet he couldn’t read, wasn’t quite functionally literate yet and what gains he’d made were only through the diligence and patience of Garrett Hawke. He could barely write, had absolutely no talent for cooking of any kind at all, in fact Fenris could make only the most minimally passable soaps, and before Orana had come to Hawke’s estate, the elf had had to pay to have his clothing cared for.

He felt a tiny smile tug the corners of his mouth. “I can dance the perfect _Pyhrrice_ , but cannot tell the difference between a p and a q to look at them. I am also an accomplished _tibia_ player, but I wouldn’t know herb from weed, poison from nourishment. I suppose I see what you mean.”

“You play an instrument? And dance?”

Fenris shook his bangs from his face and looked at the mage. “The _Pyhrrice_ is a warrior’s dance from the Ancient Imperium. A faux battle, of sorts, it is very complicated and difficult to master. Danarius once said the Archon claimed I was the best he’d ever seen.”

“You mean you weren’t joking? When you said you spent your time choreographing dances in that hulking mausoleum you live in?”

His skin heated and he looked away. “No. I know the steps by rote, I merely practice them.”

“Why, I mean, why would your ex-master teach you those things?”

Fenris shrugged. “I was a thing to show off and he enjoyed doing so. ‘Dance’ he would say, and I would begin to move and at some point, my arm would be elbow deep in a chest, stilled heart ripped from the cavity without missing a step.”

“‘Play’ he commanded and I would do so, holding the attention of one Danarius wanted slew, melody coming without falter, fingers moving in precision as my master would cast his filthy magics or sometimes simply stab his mark in the back. I learned nothing which could not be twisted to Danarius’ advantage.”

Anders was quiet for a long time the sounds of the hare hissing and crackling fire filling the space between them. Fenris felt exposed and rubbed his palms over his upper arms, wishing he’d kept his mouth closed. He shared almost nothing of himself for precisely this reason. In the silence, he couldn’t tell whether the other person was repulsed, amused, or filled with pity by the things he said.

“Do you like to dance?”

“Yes.” His answer was a whisper.

“Why?”

Fenris swallowed hard. He didn’t want to answer, shouldn’t –“It was the only time I ever felt free when I was a slave. When I danced, when I played, I could lose myself in the notes, in the paces, go somewhere else, be someone different.”

Anders leaned forward to turn the spit before standing. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

The elf nodded and watched him slowly leave, but saw nothing in the line of the mage’s body nor in the pleasant nod he’d given him, to suggest Anders was disgusted by his answer or that he pitied him either. Relieved though his nerves jangled restlessly at having shared a truth so candid, he took another chicory flower in his fingers. He looked at the bud, brought it to his nose and let the light scent imprint on his memory. This plant he would remember, a bit of sustenance he could rely on when next he found himself alone and struggling to survive. 

* * *

Anders looked down at his shaking hands and smothered the tragic laugh caught in his throat with a cough. Maker, he didn’t know when, if ever, he’d heard such bare honesty from the elf in their entire acquaintance, and the whole thing was so much more bittersweet because of the content, and context, of his words.

He had to have a bit of space, a few minutes to collect himself. Anders felt split, part of his mind (and body) unbelievable aroused at the very idea of Fenris dancing. The other half wanted to fucking cry, again, that the man had been carefully, diligently taught such beautiful skills for the sole purpose of using them as weapons. Furthermore, Anders was certain those small moments of freedom were paid for with pain afterward, inflicted on or by Fenris, a harsh reminder that those flashes were out of time, fantasies easily destroyed with but a word from the master.

The elf wasn’t alone in keeping secrets, but Anders felt like he owed Fenris something, a piece of truth equally as revealing and painful. He took a few more breaths before returning to the cave.

He gave Fenris a grin he didn’t quite feel, but knew he could fake without failing. “Sorry, had to piss. You know, there are several merchants in the bazaar that have instruments from all over Thedas. Maybe you can find one of those reed-type ones, like you know how to play.”

The elf ate the last of his chicory flowers before shrugging. “Perhaps. It has been some time. I am undoubtedly out of practice.”

“That’s no reason not to try. Orana plays the lute beautifully.”

This drew a small smile from Fenris. “Hawke says you do not.”

Anders laughed. “Not even with someone else moving my fingers. I’m horrible at music, can’t even carry a tune in a bucket. I can nearly bring back the dead, but let me hum a ditty and they’ll be wishing they’d passed into the Void.”

This earned him a snort. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to warm Anders. He pulled the spit from the fire and tested the rabbit. “Looks like dinner is done.”

Fenris offered his blade and soon enough they each had half a hare. The meal passed in relative silence, though Anders had to stifle a chuckle at the surprise on the elf’s face as he took his first hesitant taste.

“This is very good.”

Anders smiled and nodded, picking apart the meat to allow it to cool a bit. The rabbit was indeed delicious and the mage thought the only thing that could have made it better would have been a green, perhaps asparagus, and a nice Burgundy.

They both ate most of their portion, saving enough for morning, and after a trip to the back of the cave for fresh water, Anders settled himself opposite Fenris, back to the wall, legs pulled up in front of him.

“My name is Träumen. It means to dream, in the language of the Anderfels.” He pronounced it as clearly as he could, the harsh glottal sound on the first vowel, the ‘n’ at the end soft, faint. “The mages and Templars in Ferelden butchered the Void out of it and after a couple of days, they all just started calling me ‘Anders’ for lack of a better idea. It stuck.”

“How long have you been Anders, then?”

“Twenty plus winters.” He shifted his position, laying one arm over his knees and leaning to press his chin over his forearm, tugging the frayed red cloth from its secured place inside the sleeve of his robes. He rubbed the fabric as he spoke. “I’ve been Anders longer than I ever was Träumen.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“The name my mother chose was more appropriate than she could have imagined. That boy was a dream, of two people who loved each other, that life a fantasy as substantial as smoke. Did you know the Anders people are devout Andrastians? The moment I burned that barn, my fate was sealed. I had no chance of avoiding the Circle for in the ‘Fels, magic is a sin in the eyes of the Maker. _I was a sin in the eyes of the Maker_.”

He turned his face away, brushing at the tears that shouldn’t fall now, two decades past the moment that changed his life forever.

“You are a lot of things, Anders, but an offense to the Maker is not one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a note on age*
> 
> \- It is definitively stated that Carver and Bethany are 18 at the beginning of the game. Through in-game dialogues, Gamlen clearly states Leandra eloped with Malcolm twenty-five years prior to her return to Kirkwall, but baby Hawke was not born in the Free Marches or before the pair left, meaning Hawke can’t be more than 24. However, Gamlen tells Hawke he was doing something when the girl was still in ‘pinafores’ or the boy ‘in short pants’, indicating that Hawke was two or three years old in the reference. Given that, at the start I put Hawke at 21 years, so by this point in Act Three, Garrett is 28 years old.
> 
> -Anders is a bit tougher. It’s clear in Awakening he is an ‘adult’, meaning more than 18, but based on when he was taken by the circle (age 12), the number of escape attempts (7-12) during one of which he was free for almost an entire year, plus the year he spent in solitary, I put Anders in Awakening at about 24 years old - base of 12, plus 2 years because Anders doesn't talk about trying to escape until he'd been in the Tower a 'while', plus 7 years (one for each escape), plus a year free and a year in a cell. By the time he meets Hawke, it’s been about three years since the Blight (Blight lasted a year, the events in Amaranthine another six months to a year based on the ‘canon’ timeline, then Hawke is in Kirkwall a full year before ever meeting Varric). So Anders is 26/27. Considering his ‘little girl/boy’ comment to Hawke in their initial meeting, I feel that makes sense. So here, he’s about 33/34 years old.
> 
> -Fenris, well, Fenris is the hardest to nail down. I’ve seen conjecture that he underwent the ritual at 17, but the fact is we have no idea how long he served as Danarius’ body guard before he escaped. Five years? Ten? Going by his graphic morph, I put the Fenris we meet in the Alienage at a couple of years older than Anders, which would make him close to thirty at the game’s start (plus I imagine he was a slave to the magister for close to a decade), on par with Aveline and Varric. My point is, I’ve always thought Fenris was a bit older than Anders, so here, he’d be 36/37 years, though of course he doesn’t know it.
> 
> **All of this just because Anders mentions his age, LOL!
> 
> Also, I have eaten rabbit prepared exactly as Anders does here. It's absolutely delicious and when married with asparagus (white or not) and a Burgundy, it's quite a lovely repast :)


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris woke before dawn, but not much, the near total darkness outside the cave signifying the sun would begin to paint the sky soon. He stretched and rolled to the side, noting the mage remained deeply asleep, softly snoring, one arm thrown over his eyes. Memory tickled of the last time he and Anders were in a cave together and despite how very awkward both situations had been, in places, Fenris smiled a little at the thought that both were remembrances he would treasure. Sighing softly, he sat up and used a stick to warm what was left of his dinner over the low embers of the fire.

When he was finished, he washed quickly in the trickle at the back of their shelter before laying more kindling on the hot ashes, bringing the flames to life at least enough to ward off the chill. Satisfied, Fenris gathered his sword and stepped outside. As he tested the weight, reacquainting himself as he did each day with the balance, the resistance, he couldn’t help but be a little impressed by the mage’s strength. His weapon wasn’t just longer than he was tall, but weighed at least half his mass as well.

He didn’t go far from the cave as he looked for a space wide enough in circumference that he could move through his sword practice without hitting any boulders or trees or other miscellaneous debris scattered along the grainy earth. He shot a quick glance at the cave to assure himself he didn’t have an audience, before removing all of his armor and setting it in a neat pile nearby. Clad only in his leggings, with the sun just breaking the horizon, he drew a cleansing breath and began to move through the steps of _Pyhrrice_. 

_Lunge, the knee of the lead leg bent, the follower leg fully extended behind, top of rear foot pressed to floor, toes pointed. Extend sword arm, straight, the line parallel to the ground, sword and arm one, extension of the body. Hold position, free arm curved overhead. Exhale and lift, sweep weapon in and up, turn face and torso at waist, with upswing lift from lunge, following the motion of the sweep, bring legs together and up on point of toes. Both hands clasp the blade hilt, control the sword changing to off-hand, then down stroke, shifting to reverse of starting lunge._

_Sweep to the flanking side and come to balls of feet, pivot and follow through, bringing sword close in riposte position, turn and step once, twice in advancing motion, legs fully extended on each move. Rise up on point, twist, riposte with sword, upswing and down, resume first position._

Fenris lost himself in the movements, forgot the sweat beading in the early morning light, his weapon an extension of his body and he moved through steps more exaggerated than those in battle, but designed to test every bit of his control. Created to prove both prowess and form, flexing and contracting all the muscles of his body, shoulders, back, stomach, legs, as he kept the lines of his body precise, clean, the balance of the blade’s weight carefully maintained, counterpointed by his knowledge and strength.

He buried his sword in the earth, shifting into the defensive forms of the dance, turning in a tight pirouette, before dropping to a crouch, follower leg stretched in a sweep, before twisting back, belly to the sky, both palms planted on the ground as he arched into a fluid flip, feet firmly planted once more, arms close as he shifted, pivoted, danced away from his imagined enemy.

Time had no meaning. The burn in his muscles, the strain on tendons ignored as he continued. From defense back to offense, sword reclaimed, twisting leaps above the ground, sharp strokes of his blade through the air fast enough he heard a whistle in the wind. His whole being pushed to its limits, the weight of his blade almost too much, Fenris played out the final motions, control perfect, lines unbent and resolute, coming to rest with breath heaving in a return to the first position.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The elf stumbled then, falling to the side, eyes going to the owner of that voice, gaze locking with the amber one of Anders.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” The mage looked away, seeming embarrassed as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I’ll just… I’m going over there. I’m sorry. I should have said something, but Maker, I…” Anders stopped talking and walked quickly from the cave, disappearing over the small rise before Fenris had the time to fully comprehend what he’d said.

He collected his armor and sought refuge in the dark, rinsing his flesh, letting the cold water soothe and center him after the strenuous workout. Anders comments flashed into his mind, the look of awe on his face and Fenris felt his neck and ears heat. The words had been unguarded, a spontaneous veracity without artifice or unnecessary flattery and the elf felt both self-conscious and proud, the conflicting sensations serving to bring a tiny smile to his lips. No one had ever said he was beautiful and meant it without avarice coloring the compliment or their eyes.

Anders returned and made quick work of his breakfast before casting a bit of ice magic to quench the heat of the dying fire. “I need to get back to the city. There are a few things I have to do.”

Fenris lifted a brow. “Have to do?”

Anders’ thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, his nod distracted. “Hmm, before I leave.”

“You are leaving Kirkwall?”

He followed the mage out of the cave, falling in beside Anders as they walked toward the tunnel that would take them back into the undercity.

“I’m sure the hospitality of the ‘spawn would be better.”

“You are going back to the Deep Roads?” Fenris couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

Anders laughed. “No, Maker no. Still, I’m sure the darkspawn would give me a better welcome. Or at least, I know what to expect. They don’t wear the faces of men and pretend to be good. They pretty much just want to eat you. Though I can’t imagine I’d be all that tasty, but…”

“You jest but this is not funny.”

“Come on, Fenris, it is a little bit funny. I’m probably all stringy and tough by now. Although, I’d rather be eaten than be a broodmother,” the mage shivered, “those creatures are repulsive!”

“Anders!” The elf growled at him, watching the mage’s shoulder’s hunch.

“Listen, I have to get out of this place. The writing’s on the wall, Elf. Mages are not welcome, not in the Gallows and certainly not outside it. If I don’t leave now, I may never leave, and I haven’t spent most of my life escaping the Circle to die under a Templar blade or with a brand on my forehead now.”

“And what of Hawke?”

“Garrett has status here and support. The Knight-Commander is crazy, but even she knows trying to lock up the Champion is a very bad idea. Besides, he could leave as well. There’s nothing keeping him here besides his inability to leave innocents undefended. It’s honorable, but it’s also suicide. And the people have Aveline.”

“So you will just leave your mages to their fates?” Fenris grabbed Anders arm and spun the man to face him.

Pain and shame washed over the mage’s features before those honeyed eyes flashed with fire. “They aren’t _my_ mages. And if they’re too stupid to put up a fight that’s not my problem. I’ve helped the ones who were willing to fight, to die, for freedom. The rest can fucking rot.” 

Jerking away, Anders stormed the last few feet into Darktown, leaving Fenris to watch after the human, conflicting emotions chasing through him. He found himself somehow _disappointed_ by the way the mage seemed to have changed since the loss of his spirit. But he was also worried, and unable to say exactly why or what about, other than that it was rooted firmly in _Anders_.

Contemplative, he walked the undercity paths, catching a glimpse of the mage as he entered the cellar entrance to Hawke’s estate. Fenris didn’t want to follow and instead found himself drawn into the wreckage of the clinic. Anders was right. There was no way to salvage it. Even with the necessary coin, the sanctity of the place was forever tainted – there was no safety there any longer. 

Fenris shifted through broken bottles, managing to find a few undamaged lyrium and restoration potions. He rummaged for a ratty sack and began collecting what he thought the mage might need, shaking his head at the destruction, books torn apart, ink and dirt smeared over what remained. The elf stepped into the tiny backroom he knew Anders had slept in for years, shoving aside the shattered remnants of a simple bed, kicking aside straw. A flash of red drew his attention, and Fenris crouched down to look at it.

It looked to be another piece of Anders’ pillow. The elf took it and began to look for more, eventually gathering all the red swatches large enough to save. As he tucked them down the neck of his chest piece, he saw a floor board, uneven with those around it. He knelt next to it and withdrew the small dagger at his hip, putting the tip between the odd wood and its brother, raising the plank to reveal a small cubby hole.

In his fury the day before, the mage must have assumed this to be gone as well and hadn’t bothered to check. Carefully, Fenris lifted out several undamaged tomes, more lyrium potions, and a small coin pouch that clinked when he removed it. Standing, he left the little room, taking several minutes to look for more cloth or anything else. Satisfied he had recovered everything; Fenris left the clinic and headed for his mansion.

* * *

“Anders, please. It’s not safe for you to be out, not now. And Meredith has locked down the dock. No one comes or goes by ship without having the vessel thoroughly searched and each worker or passenger tested for magic.” 

Garrett’s face and tone were near panicked and Anders knew he wouldn’t be able to deny the man.

“Fine. But I don’t understand why now. What the hell happened while we were busy killing a magister?”

“Meredith came to the Chantry and accused the Grand Cleric of aiding apostates. She had her locked in her rooms.”

Anders looked wide eyed at Sebastian. “She’s insane! Elthina has made it more than clear, she takes no side.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his tone.

The priest-prince frowned but after receiving a sharp look from Hawke, he merely said, “With Isabela’s help, I am getting Elthina out of the city tonight. The pirate has used her skills to guarantee it. Her Grace refused to leave when Hawke and I relayed the message from the Divine, but now… Now I think she sees it isn’t just the mages that are the problem.”

“Being locked in a cage tends to do that. Hard to believe her Templars are all good and pious when their leader imprisons you, isn’t it?”

“Elthina would never-“

“Oh, shut your mouth. Your precious Elthina has stood by and allowed the Templars to abuse the Rite of Tranquility for years. Putting Harrowed mages to the brand is fucking against Chantry law, you pompous ass.”

“You listen-“

“Shut. Up. Sebastian. Anders is right and you know it. The abuse suffered by the mages in the Gallows is inexcusable and unacceptable.”

Vael’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitched, but he held his tongue. Anders wished he could feel smug, but really, all he felt was very tired and very much out of options.

“What about you, Hawke? How is it you managed to avoid this witch hunt?”

Garrett scrubbed his hand over his face. “Aveline, the nobility, and my status as Champion. But if this becomes a face-to-face confrontation, I have no doubt those things will matter little.”

Quiet reigned, each man in his own thoughts, before Anders sighed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Garrett. After I saw what they’d done in the clinic, Fenris showed up and… he thought I’d be safer outside of the city at the time. We were on the coast, but I insisted on returning this morning.” Anders felt guilt rise in him, both for not telling Hawke at least some of what happened and also because Garrett had needed him and he hadn’t been there for the man.

Real pain turned Hawke’s mouth down and his eyes fluttered closed. “What’s important is you’re here now and you’ve healed her. I don’t know how to explain just what that means to me.”

Anders gaze flicked toward the stairs. “Lucky for Merrill she’s a blood mage and you aren’t a half bad healer yourself.”

“If one of the elves hadn’t run to the Hanged Man, if Varric and Isabela had been a few minutes later…” Hawke’s voice broke off, choked on emotion.

Anders pushed away from the mantle and moved to take the other man in his arms, hugging him tight. “What ifs are useless. She’ll be fine, after another round of healing. For now, the major trauma is repaired and she’ll only have the bruises until I get my mana restored. After that, all she’ll need is some rest and she’ll be right back to her adorable naivety and enchanting rambling.”

Garrett chuckled against his shoulder. “That’s really not funny. I suppose I should be thankful she destroyed the damn mirror months ago. I can’t imagine how much worse it might have been if they’d found a demon-enchanted _eluvian_ in her house.”

Anders didn’t offer a reply, merely pressed a kiss to Hawke’s temple before stepping back. “So what am I supposed to do until you think it’s safe to leave? You know I can’t just sit idle.”

“Anders I know you hate this, but moving through the city during the day is not a good idea. The Templars are specifically looking for you. After nightfall, you could probably go to the Hanged Man, but not alone and not without a disguise of some sort. Isabela said it’ll take a couple of weeks to get to Starkhaven. When she returns, we’ll get you out.”

“Why not tonight? If Bela has procured the release of the Grand Cleric-“

“She did so by making sure Templars more loyal to Elthina than Meredith are the men checking her ship. And no, I don’t know how she did it and I don’t want to. I’m sorry, Anders.”

“For what it’s worth, Hawke, I too am sorry. What those Templars did to Merrill… If Varric and Isabela hadn’t taken care of them, I would freely give my bow to the task.”

Anders was surprised by the sincerity and the anger in Sebastian’s voice. Hawke turned to the heir and gave him a nod of acceptance. “As awful as it is, I’m glad they only tried to stomp her to death. Those sorts of wounds heal faster than… others.”

There was need for Hawke to extrapolate what ‘others’ might mean.

“Well, if I’m stuck here for a while, I suppose I’ll go find Orana. Cooking will give me something to do, for now.” With one last caress over Garrett’s back he left the men in the library and made his way toward the kitchens.

“Like this, messere Fenris. Turn the sock inside out and pinch the sides of the hole together. See, it makes a little seam the stitches can close up nice and even.”

Anders almost cast a spirit bolt, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or to verify he was at least still in Thedas. And who would blame him? After all, the very idea that the elf would be taking darning lessons from Orana, at the small table in Hawke’s kitchen, was likely the definition of surreal.

“There you are Orana. Oh, Fenris, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He watched the elf hide away the needle and thread in his hand, head dipping, bangs hiding his face.

“Messere Anders! I am so glad you are safe. After what happened to Merrill-“

Fenris’ head popped up. “What happened to the wit- to Merrill?”

“Apparently it wasn’t just me the Templars went after yesterday. According to Hawke, six of them cornered her in the Alienage and when she fought back, the proceeded to try and beat her to death. If it hadn’t been for Varric and Isabela, they’d probably have done it too.”

“What? Why?” Fenris vibrated with a kind of righteous fury the likes of which Anders had only ever seen directed at slavers.

He lifted a brow at the elf. “Are you sure you didn’t eat something funny yesterday, Fenris? A hallucinogen or something?”

“Make sense, mage.” Fenris curled his lip and narrowed his eyes.

Anders held his hands up. “Just wondering why you’re so angry about a mage, a blood mage at that, getting what she certainly deserves.”

“ _Fasta vass_! It is not- The witch is a fool, an idiot to think she can deal with demons, that she can control them. A truth she learned not long ago. But she seeks to harm only herself, not others.”

“So what? Templars don’t care what kind of mage you are, if you fight back, they will put you down. And I still don’t see why it bothers you.”

“She is one of _ours_. Hawke’s. There was no need, no reason to harm her.”

“Orana, you’d better get me a chair. I think I might faint. It sounds like Fenris here… cares… about a mage!” Anders couldn’t stop the jibe, even though he knew how hollow the words rang, since he himself had been the benefactor of exactly that less than a half day ago.

Fenris stood abruptly and shoved past Anders as he left the kitchen.

“That wasn’t very nice, Messere.”

Anders gave Orana an apologetic smile. “No, it wasn’t.” He frowned then, at himself, and rubbed his brow. “Hawke says I’ll be stuck in the house for a few days. I thought, while I’m here, I could help you in the kitchen again.”

Orana dipped her head. “I would like that. You are a very good cook.”

“Flatterer,” he moved closer to the small elf. “So, what did you have planned for the evening meal?”

“I have lamb…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pyhrrice (Roman/Latin) or Pyhrric Dance (not related to the leader who fumbled the battle) is a warrior dance whose roots reach back to Ancient Greece, the Etruscans who came before them, and likely further. It’s sometimes a simulated dual, other versions involve a small contingent of men moving together, and there are forms of it (there are actually several different forms, influenced by the ages and cultures where they are performed) in many southern European, Asian, north African, Mediterranean, and middle eastern states.
> 
> *A lot of Fenris’ dance come from Iaido – exercises of precise controlled sword handling based in Japanese martial traditions. This style is not so much about ‘fighting’ but about the weapon and its handler being one body, one soul, each move executed with utmost precision, timing, and movement. Iaido are beautiful to watch, at least I think so, and while Fenris’ dance involves more motion, leaps and rolls and spins a modern observer would recognize from ballet, it is also very much Iaido in the spirit, the meaning of the dance.
> 
> *I have loved Mikhail Baryshnikov since I was a little girl. I have seen hundreds of male dancers since I first watched him on PBS in the Nutcracker, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so moved – it was like watching an angel dance. Begging his pardon, but I absolutely imagine Fenris moving with that kind of passion, grace, power, and skill while he progressed through the steps of the _Pyhrrice_ on the sand-covered coast.


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris paused in the hall between the kitchen and the sitting room. Anders’ jab hurt, but he deserved no less, a fact of which he was well aware. Still, that he’d been snide at all was testament to the many, many times Fenris had done the same. Regardless of how out of characters his ire might have been, the elf felt it nonetheless.

Merrill _was_ a fool, but she was a fool who had watched his back and fought by his side innumerable times. And for all the harm she could do, he had never once felt the touch of her blood magic, never known her to be cruel or corrupt. In fact, she was almost sickeningly sweet and often hilariously naïve. He shook his head, imagining the tiny woman set upon by six fully armed and armored Templars and simply could not fathom what would drive them to such excessive force.

Even if the Dalish had fought back, Templar talents could block magic. They hadn’t needed to strike her at all, and yet, according to Anders, they’d not only struck her but they’d tried to kill her.

He stepped into the sitting room to find Sebastian and Hawke in quiet conversation.

“I apologize for interrupting, Hawke. Sebastian.”

“Fenris, it is good to see you. I had hoped to be able to say good bye personally.”

He moved toward the prince, clasping the man around his forearm. Sebastian returned the greeting with a warm smile. “You are leaving?”

“I must. The Knight-Commander has gone too far in her search for maleficarum. She has the Grand Cleric under armed guard, accused her of aiding apostates.”

Fenris pulled back, brows lifted high on his forehead. “When did this happen?”

“While we were dealing with Danarius.”

“And Merrill?”

“Last night. I think they waited until I left. I hadn’t been home but an hour when Varric and Isabela came in with her.”

“I am sure you will find this hard to believe, but I am truly sorry, Garrett. The wi- Merrill and I do not agree on many things, but she didn’t deserve-“

“No, she didn’t. And while I find it odd that you would offer condolences, I can see the truth in your face and I’m grateful.”

“Is there anything I might do? Any way I could help? I can go to her home, retrieve anything you think she needs.” There was little he could do to aid the woman’s healing, but ferrying back things Merrill held dear was something he could, he _wanted_ , to do.

“I don’t know. Perhaps… She is upstairs. Maybe you would ask her? It would better if she described the items directly, instead of me trying to relay the information.”

Fenris ducked his head, uncomfortable, but agreed. “I will ask.”

“What is that in your hand?” Sebastian’s voice drew the elf’s attention to one tightly curled fist.

A tiny needle and thread clutched in his fingers, Fenris cursed himself a thousand kinds of fool. As the light from the fire glinted over the steel, though, the elf knew no matter the idiocy of his idea, he would accomplish the goal he’d set, if for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.

“I asked Orana to show me basic sewing. It was brought to my attention recently that I am severely lacking in useful skills.”

“Lacking useful skills? Surely you are mistaken. I’ve never met a better warrior.” Sebastian scoffed at the idea.

Fenris smiled to himself as he pressed the needle into the hem of his tunic. “Being a good killer won’t keep my limbs covered or tell me what plant is safe to eat.”

Hawke huffed a laugh. “I suppose that’s true, but the prowess of your talents will keep you in gold and that can be traded for new clothes and hot meals.”

“Perhaps. Though if I find myself unable to barter sword for coin, then what?”

“Good point. Merrill is in my suite.”

He nodded to both humans and ascended the stairs, hands clasped at his back as he made his way toward the other elf.

Knocking three times before he opened the door, Fenris stepped inside, nervousness stirring beneath his ever controlled demeanor. “Merrill?”

“Who is that?” 

He heard bed clothes shift as he moved forward, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. Looking down at her, he struggled to keep his temper and his guilt in check. Her delicate features were mottled with blue, black, and purple stains, her unclad forearms bearing the distinct imprint of boot heels. He cast his eyes down, afraid she would see his shame and mistake it for pity.

“Oh! Fenris. I, uh, well, I certainly didn’t expect you to visit. Then again, I suppose you are Hawke’s friend, so maybe this is some kind of human ritual, but wait, no, well maybe, I don’t know, I’m not very familiar with humans. Or their rituals. Or anything about them, not really. Hawke doesn’t seem to be very much like the rest, though, so –“

“Merrill,” he took a measured breath wavering between telling her to be quiet and laughing.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“I came to ask if there is anything you need from your home.”

“Really? That’s very kind of you, Fenris.”

He rocked back on his heels and tried to look anywhere but at her. “It is the least I can do.”

“Do I really look that bad? Hawke won’t give me a mirror.” Her voice was small and though he didn’t want to, Fenris shifted his gaze to meet hers.

“The bruises will heal. But you are rather, hmm, colorful.”

His comment drew a small smile on her bow-shaped mouth. “Probably all black and purple." She stopped for a beat, her brow furrowed. "Are you certain you want to do this? Those Templars said something about you too. Or I think they did, it was rather hard to make out what they were saying clearly, with all that armor clanging and feet stomping.”

So taken aback by the nonchalant way she spoke of being assaulted, Fenris almost missed the first part of her statement. “Pardon me?”

“I’m fairly sure it was you. The ‘glowy elf’, they said. And you’re the only elf I know who glows.”

“What would they want with me? I am no mage.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they think your markings are magic. Maybe they just want to hurt Hawke.”

“Did you tell Garrett this?”

“No, sorry, I should have, but I was a little out of sorts-“

“You have nothing to apologize for, Merrill. And my offer stands. If they think to take me, they are welcome to try.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at him and he danced uncomfortably beneath her penetrating gaze. “You are pretty scary, when you want to be. And when you don’t. Pretty much all the time, Fenris. But you should still be careful. I have a small box, beneath the floor board under my bed. I would really like it back. Oh, and some of my books.”

Fenris tried not to grimace. “You will have to tell me precisely where they are or what they look like. I cannot read the titles.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure where they are. Oh! If you get me a parchment and quill, I can write the titles for you and you can match the shapes. Couldn’t you?”

Fenris thought about her suggestion and nodded. “That will be sufficient.”

It didn’t take much searching to come up with something for Merrill to write with and a few minutes later, he turned to leave.

“Thank you, Fenris.”

“You are welcome, _witch_.”

As he hoped, his name for her brought out the gentle chime of her laughter. “Thank the Creators, for a moment there I thought I was dreaming this whole thing.”

Fenris closed the door with a smile.

* * *

Anders watched the elf descend the stairs and looked at Garrett with a question in his eyes.

Hawke shrugged. “He asked if there was anything Merrill needed from the Alienage.”

Anders shook his head, utterly baffled by Fenris. What in the Void was going on with the elf?

“Hawke, there is something you should know. Merrill thinks the Templars are seeking me as well.”

“I will kill Meredith, I swear to the Maker.” Garrett growled and began to pace. “This is madness, utter madness. I spoke with the Knight-Commander not a week ago, hunted down and killed two blood-mages and one idiot of a Comte’s son and sent him _back_ to the Circle. She was fine, I was polite, and she thanked me for my service. What in the Void has happened in these last days to push her into the abyss?”

Neither Anders nor Fenris made any reply, knowing Garrett spoke more to himself than them. And they had no answers to offer in the first place.

“If any should try, they will find I am no easy prey and their talents will do them no good.”

“Fenris, you can’t go alone.”

“I will be fine, Hawke.”

“Fenris, I’m not-“

“I’ll go with him.”

“Mage that is not a good idea.”

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun! You glowing and ripping out hearts, me running around trying not to get smote.”

“Anders.” Garrett’s tone held warning, but his ex-lover ignored him.

“Listen, you said I should be safe enough after dark. I’ve already changed my clothes and I have a cap that covers most of my head and face. I’ll go with Fenris to the Alienage and then he can see me safely to the Hanged Man.” 

He looked down at the leather vest, tight breeches, and knee-high boots he’d worn to the Wounded Coast only two days ago though it seemed much longer now, then back to his companions. Neither man looked swayed. 

Anders shrugged. “I’m leaving this house. I can go with Fenris or not, but I won’t stay trapped in here. I’ll be careful and I’ll be back before morning, but please, Garrett, don’t ask me to pace the halls.”

Hawke sagged a bit, shoulders dropping. “I can’t force you to stay.”

“I can. He cannot leave if he is unconscious.” Fenris stepped toward Anders.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He called magic, a little ball of electricity to float in his hand.

Fenris lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Gentlemen,” Hawke stepped between them. “If I might get this back on track.”

Anders glared at the elf but crushed the spell in his fist. “I’m going.” He turned on heel and headed for the door. 

“Be careful. And thank you, Fenris.”

Anders stepped into the Hightown night, senses on alert, eyes darting to every shadow. When he saw no one and heard nothing out of the ordinary, he stepped away from Garrett’s home and walked quickly through the empty market.

“I did not realize you enjoyed running so. Is it a hobby of yours?”

Fenris’ words drew Anders to a halt. He flashed a mocking grin. “How could you have possible missed my love for a good jog? From the Circle, from the Wardens, from you just the other day.”

His smile turned positively sinful as he watched the elf react. Back straightened, body tightened, even while those lovely green eyes became partially hidden by dipping lids and a flush warmed the planes of his cheeks and the tips of his elongated ears.

“Why must you goad me?”

“You practically beg me to, Fenris.” He waggled his brows, knowing he was pushing his luck and really not giving a shit. “It’s just so easy to get a _rise_ out of you.”

Watching as desire overtook the unrelenting lines, the implacable control Fenris wore closer than armor was a heady thing and Anders was only human. His body responded in kind, cock stirring, blood rushing, breath growing shallow. When the elf growled and tried to grab hold of him, he danced away with a shaky laugh.

“Now, now, Elf, I don’t think a brawl in the market is the best way to avoid notice.”

“I swear, mage, I will find a way to stop your endless ribbing.”

Anders only laughed and started down the stairs, the elf at his back. As they made their way to the Alienage, the sounds of a lyre carried from above them, the haunting chords turning Anders mind to the early morning and a display of ability and grace he had never before witnessed and doubted he’d ever see bested if he lived a thousand years. 

He may not have intended to say the words, but he’d meant them regardless. Anders had never watched anyone dance the way Fenris did, with his whole body, his soul iridescent as he let the movement take him, transport him. He'd been transfixed as the elf's lithe body balanced on the very tips of his toes, legs given full extension as he’d spun. Fenris had dropped down time and again, stilled for a moment, only to glide backward as if propelled by some invisible hand, the shine of sweat on muscle, the newborn rays of sun catching on lyrium and turning it to stardust. Amazing just wasn't good enough, but Anders had no better word.

His heart had pounded, his body not only stirring but raging at Anders as he’d watched, entranced. The power in those long limbs, the strength was mind boggling to see in battle, but like that? Stripped to the skin, moving like the wind through trees, no like an arrow loosed by a master bowman, and Anders had been torn between staying immobile so as not to disturb Fenris and running forward to snatch the elf from the air and carry him to the ground, Anders rising over him, taking the slighter man into his embrace. Turning all the passion of practiced movement and funneling it into the insane hunger waiting, just below the surface, since that first moment in a tiny tent so many months ago.

Maker, beautiful and magnificent were poor asseverations, but they were the best Anders could find in his woefully inadequate vocabulary. Just remembering the scene, his heart beat faster, his palms grew damp not only with arousal but also in awe.

“Watch your step, mage.” Fenris hand snagged the bottom of his vest.

Anders stumbled, and felt his face heat a bit as he realized he’d almost stepped off into space, headed for a nasty tumble down stone steps. “You’d think I’d learn not to daydream while walking.”

Fenris sneered and jerked his hand back. “The Templars are actively trying to find you in order to at least make you Tranquil, at worst separate your head from your neck and you are _daydreaming_?”

They made their way across the nearly empty Alienage courtyard. Anders pressed open the door to Merrill’s apartment and stepped inside, the elf close behind. While Fenris closed the door, he took in the little hovel and felt a surge of irritation. The Templars had barely mussed the house, overturning a chair and emptying the shelves of books, but otherwise, the Dalish woman’s home was in one piece.

“Utterly destroy a free clinic, but leave the blood mage’s house more or less intact.”

“I would suggest they were rather busy beating her to death to finish ransacking her home.” Fenris’ words came softly behind him and Anders immediately felt like a giant asshole.

“I’m a prick. I shouldn’t have said that. Come on, let’s get whatever it is she needs and leave.”

The elf withdrew a piece of paper and held it out to Anders. “She wants these books. She wrote them down so I could match the letters, but you are literate. It would go faster if you search for them.”

Anders nodded and took the parchment, scanning the titles, laughing softly at the last.

“What’s funny?” Fenris had pulled her bed from the wall and was busy prying up the floor.

“The final book on the list is one of Isabela’s, uh, naughty stories.”

Fenris gave an irritated grumble. “You cannot be serious.”

Anders chuckled louder and bent to sort through the books, pulling the tomes the woman requested and putting them in a small pile nearby. “Dead.” Instinctively, he righted the rest of the leather-bound pages, stacking them in front of the bookcase. 

Fenris returned to the main room, a slim book in his grasp. “Is this what you are looking for?”

Anders moved to the elf’s side, reaching for the novel. “Ah, yes. That’s it.” He plucked the book from Fenris’ fingers and began flipping through the pages, brow arching at some of the illustrations. “Damn, Bela, whoever draws your inserts is a god.” He turned one particularly interesting picture sideways, admiring both the form of the bodies displayed on the page and the eroticism of their pose.

“That is… perverse.”

Anders eyes snapped to Fenris’ face, the corner of his lip lifting at the blush he knew he’d see. “Oh, I don’t know. It takes a bit of work, but I wouldn’t call it perverse.”

The elf stepped away from him immediately, as if in his curiosity he hadn’t realized he’d been looking over Anders’ shoulder. The human looked back at the page and grinned. It showed two men giving reciprocal fellatio, one of them holding the other upside down. He’d never personally tried it, but it certainly looked fun, with a light enough partner... _Best to stop this train of thought right now._

Snapping the book closed, he returned to the others and gathered them in his arms. “Are you taking all of this back to Hawke?”

Fenris nodded. “I will have Varric get me a pack when we arrive at the tavern.”

“Lead the way. I’m definitely ready for a drink.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Still haven’t regained those Warden legs, eh Blondie?”

Anders smirked. “Not yet. You’d think, after a couple of years going toe to toe with Oghren, I’d have permanently boosted my tolerance for alcohol. But alas, it seems not to be the case.”

The storyteller lifted his mug and took a drink before speaking again. “So what’s the deal with you and the elf?”

“What’d’ya mean?”

Varric gave him a look that said, ‘what am I, blind?’ “You’ve been watching him when he’s not looking all night. I’m not one to judge, but Blondie, do you have a death wish?”

Anders didn’t bother to deny the dwarf’s words. “Did you know he can play the _tibia_? And dance? Like really dance?”

Varric perked up at that. “No shit.”

“I swear to Andraste.”

“I can see how that might be appealing. Is that why Rivaini said you, pardon me,” the dwarf started to laugh, “you _tagged_ him out on the coast? That you incited him to chase you half way around the island? And that when she and Hawke found the two of you, Fenris was wrapped around you like one of Merrill’s vines and you seemed more than happy to be ensnared.”

“Isabela really should learn to keep her mouth shut.”

Varric chortled harder, one palm slapping his thigh. “She was actually telling the truth! Come on, Blondie, what gives?”

Anders turned to look at Fenris again, the elf deep in conversation with Aveline several tables over. “I have no idea, Varric. What I will tell you is it isn’t something that just happened.”

“Really?”

 _Lyrium and salt, need and pleasure._ “It was his idea to go to Merrill’s and get her things.”

“Now you’re stretching what I can believe, Anders.”

He swiveled to look into eyes not dissimilar from his own. “No shit. He was even angry she’d been attacked. I don’t think Fenris likes mages, or trusts us all of a sudden, but I think he’s decided the ones in Hawke’s acquaintance should get a pass or something. It’s the only way I can make sense of him lately.”

“I suppose if there’s one thing Broody is it’s loyal.”

Anders drained his mug and smiled broadly at Norah motioning for another. “Enough about Fenris, have you found a buyer yet?”

Varric stood and waved the mage to follow. They headed up the stairs and once inside the dwarf’s suite, safely ensconced behind the closed door, the story teller waddled into his bedchamber. He returned a few minutes later with a medium sized coin purse.

“That was what I got for just one of the prepared powders.”

Anders opened the neck of the pouch and his eyes bulged. “Maker, is it all sovereigns?”

“Every one. And that’s after my fifteen percent.”

“Shit. And there’s still four more.”

“I told you, richest apostate in Thedas. I haven’t bothered putting the recipe on the market. With as tense as things are here, I thought it better to wait.”

Anders nodded. “I agree.” He withdrew a large handful of coins and transferred them to the smaller purse at his waist, before passing the bag back to Varric. “I trust you to keep that safe.”

“The Knight-Commander may be on a tear, but like Hawke, she’d be crazy to fuck with me. And her men know they’d be unwelcome anywhere near the Hanged Man… or the Rose. I’m safe enough.”

Ander chuckled, though the sound was cut short by a loud knock at the door.

“Mage?”

Varric looked up at Anders, but the human certainly had no idea why Fenris sought him out. The dwarf cocked his head but moved to open the door any way.

“Fenris?”

“We must go. Aveline’s man said there are Templars coming.”

Anders shot a look at Varric. “Didn’t you just say they wouldn’t dream of fucking with you?”

Fenris growled and adjusted the satchel slung over one shoulder. “They aren’t going to raid the tavern. They are planning to lay a trap outside.”

Varric shook his head. “This is really starting to piss me off. Come on, you two. I’ll get you out.”

He led them to the room at the farthest end of the hall, all three of them nodding to Martin as they moved through his ‘store’ and into the adjoining space. Varric shoved a couple of barrels out of the way, revealing a trap door.

“Where does this go?”

“The tunnels under Hightown. There’s a red marker on the walls. Follow it and you’ll be back at Hawke’s. Now go.”

Anders dropped into the dark hole and swallowed hard against the surge of fear. He really, really hated dark, compact spaces. Moving out of the way, he heard Fenris’ huff of breath and then it was almost completely dark as Varric slammed the door. The sound of barrels being moved back in place and retreating footsteps and then he and the elf were once more alone.

“This is getting to be a bit of a habit.” Trying for levity and not sure he hit the mark, Anders shuffled forward, one palm to the wall at his right.

“What is?”

“You and I. Alone.” He stumbled and clenched his teeth, trying to fight back the irrational fear growing inside.

“Now is not the time for your foolishness, mage.”

Anders stretched out his other arm and found the opposite wall much, much closer than he expected. _Breathe, everything is fine. This isn’t a cell, it’s a tunnel. Just keep walking, keep walking._ He tripped again. “Fuck!”

“Mage, pay attention.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying _not_ to do, Fenris.” He pushed forward a few more steps before the dizziness overtook him.

“Anders, what the Void is wrong with you?”

Strong fingers, holding him upright. “I… hate… dark… small… spaces.” He had to struggle to breathe slowly between each word.

Suddenly, the passage flooded with light as Fenris ignited his brands. “Why did you not say so? I would have lit the way.”

Anders wanted to hug the bastard; he was so damned grateful for those stupid markings in that moment. “In general, it’s a bad idea to give ones enemies the means with which to defeat them, elf. Didn’t you learn that in Tevinter?”

Fenris’ grip tightened as he tugged them deeper into the tunnel. “I am not your enemy.”

“Well, we aren’t exactly friends either. Certainly not according to you.” 

The elf said nothing, just continued to guide them through the passageways, pausing every now and then to note a mark before trudging off again. It probably didn’t take long, though it seemed like forever in the mostly dark, cramped space, but finally, a door opened into Hawke’s cellar. 

Anders rushed past the elf and into the large room, staggering as the built up panic flowed from him in a blaze of adrenaline. “Thank the Maker. I’ve never been so glad to be in a dank basement in all my life.”

Fenris stopped next to him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead turned and headed toward the exit. Anders followed and as they emerged into the house, found himself enveloped in a tight, hard embrace.

“I was so worried you wouldn’t make it back.” Garrett released him as quickly as he’d grabbed him, whirling around to snatch Fenris straight off his feet in an equally thankful bear hug. “By Andraste, I’ve never been so happy to see two people.”

Fenris looked practically apoplectic, eyes wide. Anders couldn’t help but grin. “Hawke, you might want to put the elf down. He looks like he might keel over.”

Quick as that, Fenris was back on his own feet, tripping backward.

“Sorry, Fenris. Really, I wasn’t thinking.”

The elf made to straighten his armor. “It’s alright. I’m glad you are… no longer worried. Here, these are the items Merrill asked for.” He pulled the strap of the bag off his shoulder and handed it to Hawke.

“Orana made plates for you both. They’re in the kitchen. It was delicious, by the way!” Garrett didn’t even look back at the other men as he dashed up the stairs.

“Well, at least he remembered dinner.” Anders grinned when his stomach growled. “Just in time too.”

He headed for the kitchen and realized half way between the two rooms the elf was not behind him. “Fenris?”

“What?”

“Unless you’re interested in listening to Hawke fuck Merrill until she screams, you might want to come to the kitchen.”

He laughed aloud at the harsh Tevene curse that echoed back from the other room. The elf really did make it too easy.

* * *

Fenris hurried toward the kitchen absolutely certain he did _not_ want to hear the Dalish elf and Garrett Hawke fornicating. Damn Anders, he heard the man laugh and wanted to smack him. He stopped in the hall, unsure if the mage was teasing him or if he was simply taking the opportunity to poke at him because he knew what was likely going on in Hawke’s suite.

“For fuck’s sake, Fenris, get in here.”

Orana giggled and it made him scowl. No doubt the mage was further using him as the butt of some joke.

“Feeeennnnnrrrriiissss!” Anders drew his name out in a whine. He gritted his teeth and stalked the rest of the way into the kitchen.

Anders gave Orana a brief hug around her shoulders before sitting at the table. “There you are. Sit down and eat.” He motioned to the plate opposite him and thanked the female elf when she set a wine bucket on the table, water sloshing inside around a bottle. A dash of magic and the glass was surrounded by ice.

“It’s a sweet wine, better to be a little chilled.” 

Fenris sat in the chair and tried to hold on to his frown, but the mage’s knowledge of the wine surprised him. “You know wine?”

Anders smiled. “Probably not as well as you, but some. I have a bit of a taste for the finer things, little of them though I’ve had.”

The elf looked at his plate, recognized lamb chops, but not much else. “What is it?”

Anders leaned across the table and used his fork to point at each serving. “I’m sure you know the lamb. These,” he hovered over yellow, green, and orange vegetables of some sort, “are squashes. I think you’ll like them. Orana prepares them perfectly. Firm, but not too firm. The lamb is resting on a bed of tiny pasta that looks like rice, seasoned with lemon and coriander. And this is rhubarb compote.” He pointed to a thick, chunky red sauce that had been dabbed on the lamb.

Fenris wasn’t sure he thought any of that sounded very good at all. “I do not-“

“Listen, Elf, I made most of this food. The least you can do is try it. If you don’t like it, we’ll see what we can whip up for you instead.”

His argument effectively ended, Fenris picked up his knife and fork and made the first small cut into the meat.

“Make sure you get a bit of the pasta and compote.”

The elf shot Anders a frown, but complied and lifted the food to his lips, pausing to smell the aroma before opening his mouth. He chewed slowly, trying to process all the different flavors and textures on his tongue. The sauce was tart; the pasta (which Fenris always thought meant noodle) was firm, the lamb succulent and tender.

“See? It makes me wonder, you said you know how to use all the pieces at a formal dinner, did you never attend one?”

Fenris took another bite, fighting against a need to wiggle in his seat as the second taste exploded over his senses. The dish was amazing and he found himself excited, in an almost giddy way, for more. “I attended many, but I never sat at the table or ate. Knowing the utensils and their placement made it easy for me to note if any went missing, or to know which would be useful as weapons.”

Anders frowned and ate some of his squash. “How many different ways can you kill a man with a dessert spoon?”

Fenris actually smirked. “Three. The shrimp fork is a better weapon.”

The mage coughed and then he laughed, his amber eyes lit with good humor. “You just made a joke!”

“It’s been known to happen.”

The rest of the meal passed in amiable silence. Fenris found he didn’t care for the taste of the squash, or perhaps it was the texture, but either way, he had a second helping of the lamb and rice (that was not) and sauce. Anders opened the wine, and the elf complimented him on his choice. When plates were cleared, the mage stood and moved toward the oven.

“And now, for the best part. Do you like coffee, Fenris?”

“I enjoy the smell of it, but I have never imbibed.”

“Well, we’re about to change that.”

Fenris sat back in his chair and watched Anders move about the kitchen, effortless and completely at home. Where he would be fumbling and unsure, the mage was confident and casual, heating water, grinding beans in the mortar, putting them in a fine mesh container and setting it inside the pot to steep.

Anders opened the oven and a scent Fenris knew tickled his nose. His mouth immediately began to water. “Chocolate.”

“I wondered if you’d know the smell at least. Yes, chocolate.” The mage lifted a tray out, but Fenris couldn’t see what was on it. “I had Orana put these back in the warmed oven. But that jar,” he pointed to a large, fat bellied pot, “is full of them. This was my mother’s recipe. The last thing I have, I suppose.”

Fenris felt something twist in his chest, but it didn’t last because Anders came to the table with a bright smile, bearing a plate of, “Cookies?”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me get the coffee. I’ll bring sugar and cream too, just in case.”

The elf looked at the cookies and wanted to take one so badly, but he curled his hands and waited as patiently as he could. By the time Anders set a cup in front of him and retook his seat, Fenris was fairly vibrating with anticipation.

The mage grinned. “Go ahead. What are you waiting for?”

His hand snatched a cookie almost faster than the eye could track, bringing the warm disk to his nose, breathing deeply before opening wide and taking a big, almost gluttonous bite.

He moaned a deep, heart-felt sound and closed his eyes. Ambrosia.

* * *

The sounds coming from Fenris made Anders _extremely_ uncomfortable. _Maker, if he keeps that up, I’ll embarrass myself right here._ Failing miserably at keeping his cock even the smallest bit soft, he picked up a cookie and dunked it in his coffee.

They were delicious, just like he remembered, but they were nowhere near as good as watching Fenris eat them. The elf hadn’t opened his eyes after the first bite, merely reaching out blindly for the plate to grab another, moaning and sighing. It was ridiculous and erotic and _Maker, if he does that one more time, I can’t be held accountable for what I do._

Anders watched the elf eat five of the warm treats before he even slowed. On the sixth, his eyes came open, just a little, and he took his time, savoring each bite. The seventh found Fenris finally tasting his coffee, grimacing at the bitter flavor. Anders had to clear his throat as he added a bit of sugar, waited for the elf to taste it, and then a bit more. Fenris still didn’t seem to care for it, so Anders added two healthy splashes of cream. After that, his companion seemed content, sipping the coffee and eating another six cookies.

After his first, the mage didn’t even bother trying to eat another. It wasn’t that he didn’t want any more, it was due purely to the fact his appetite had fully shifted from cookie to Fenris. As he watched the last sweet disappear past the elf’s lips, he cleared his throat and drank the rest of his coffee. He looked anywhere but at Fenris, whose face was flush with pure delight, a soft smile shifting the features of his face from dangerously handsome to _holy shit I’m drooling_ gorgeous.

Fenris dusted his mouth and hands. “Those were better than anything I could have ever imagined.”

“Uh, thanks, Fenris. I’m glad you liked them.”

“I liked most of it. Not the squash though. You are an excellent cook, mage.”

Anders grinned. “It’s a gift. I don’t get to do it very often. It’s a waste to prepare something like this for just me, especially when the coin could go to help those with nothing.”

“Is that why you were so skinny? Did you never eat?”

Ander quirked a brow. “I ate, I eat. Wardens have an extremely rampant appetite, probably because we burn through so many calories fighting the blight in our bodies or something, I don’t know. I was skinny because I wasn’t eating enough, which is a considerable amount, for my Warden metabolism.”

Fenris looked unconvinced. “You went without meals, mage.”

Anders shrugged. “I did. How could I not? When some of my patients hadn’t eaten in days or weeks, missing a meal here or there is a small thing. Anyway, I think I’m going to bed. It should be safe now.” 

He stood knowing there was zero chance the elf would miss the erection straining to be free, but deciding leaving was the better side of valor, lest their conversation devolve into an argument and ruin what had been a lovely meal. Anders took the empty plate and his empty cup and placed them on the sideboard before striding to the door.

“Anders?”

 _Fuck me, not my name…_ “Fenris?”

“Are you aroused?” Maker, his low voice was husky and confused.

“I am. If you’re trying to embarrass me, you’ll have to do better than that.” He tossed the elf a cheeky grin as he swept a hand alongside his fully engorged cock. “I’m only human and the sounds you were making…” He watched the elf’s face flame and felt like a shit for mocking him. “Listen, it’s fine. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Really, I’m sorry for teasing you.”

“Then why do it?”

Anders pressed his back to the wall by the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because you make it easy. Because I love the way you blush. Because it turns me on when you get flustered. You’re always so damn stoic, so aloof and when I poke at you, I get to see flashes of all you keep hidden.” He pushed off the wall and shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just a masochist. Good night, Fenris.”

The door closed softly behind him as he retreated upstairs, away from too much truth and too much temptation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown

Fenris looked down at the sleeping features of Anders and had a moment of real terror. If this were the last time he was able to gaze on this face, how many regrets would he carry forward, into the Void or, if they were very, very lucky into the future? He lifted bared fingers to the mage’s forehead, pushing strands of escaped hair away and tried to deal with, to find a place for the jumbled feelings swirling through him, and was only marginally successful.

Hawke had sent him to rouse the other man. A young boy came to the door not a half hour past, face panic stricken, small hand shaking as he passed a missive from First Enchanter Orsino to Hawke. Meredith had called for a thorough search of the Gallows, and the immediate destruction of every mage she believed corrupt. Garrett had no choice, he had to try and stop the woman. He’d told Fenris he didn’t have to accompany him. Hawke understood how Fenris felt about mages. He wouldn’t blame the elf for refusing to protect them.

While the idea of fighting for mages was not something Fenris was pleased to do, he refused to abandon the first friend he’d ever had. He would not leave Hawke to face the battle ahead without his sword at the human’s back, his skill at Garrett’s side, ready to defend against all enemies. More than that, he would not leave these _mages_ that had supported him, all three, to the fate awaiting them in the Circle’s custody – if they even made it that far. 

Magic might be a poison and mages a dark plague in his opinion, but not _his_ mages. He could give them no less loyalty than they had shown him. They might not have earned his absolute trust, but they had his total respect, and so he would stand with them and pray they made it out of this insanity alive.

His fingertips traced the angle of Anders jaw and the man hummed softly in his sleep. Maker, he wanted this man to distraction and maybe destruction. It seemed like an eon past he’d taken himself in hand while the mage slept, oblivious, next to him. Seemed nearly as long since he’d finally known the taste of Anders, felt his arms around his body, the insistent press of an erection against his backside. His hand shook and he pulled away. There wasn’t time, not now, but by Andraste Fenris wished there was. 

Anders was right, for everything he knew, there was so much he didn’t. Before the mage, he’d never known the touch of another that didn’t involve pain or force or humiliation. Had never eaten a cookie or drank coffee, never been teased or looked at with an awe born of amazement and not terror.

Fenris had experienced so many firsts in the last few days and he wanted the chance for more. Three dawns, three dusks and he’d experienced more liberty of the spirit, if not body, in that time than in the seven years before them. He thought about last night, about the blatant press of Anders’ cock against his tight pants, the sight of it surprising Fenris, his lips working before he’d had time to consider what he was going to say. The mage found it so easy to be frank, he was free in a way Fenris didn’t think he’d ever be.

Perhaps that was part of the attraction. He didn’t want to be that open, ever, but he would like to be a little less formal, a little more relaxed. He’d been warmed, pleased, at the way Anders eyes glowed with delight at his small attempt at humor. He wanted to see that look again. Fenris stepped back and pressed a hand to his chest plate, behind which he carried something he hoped he’d one day be able to give. He couldn’t now, but if they survived this day, Fenris swore it would be sooner rather than later.

“Anders.”

The mage stirred, but didn’t wake.

“Anders.” Fenris raised his voice and smirked when the man jerked upright in the bed.

“Fuck, Fenris! What!”

“It is time.”

The look on the mage’s face said clearly he understood. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Couldn’t wait until I left the city, could they? No.”

“The Knight-Commander is moving to empty the Gallows of maleficar, though undoubtedly many innocents will be caught in her sweep. If you wish to leave the city, Hawke has made sure the cellar exit is clear to the undercity.”

Anders cut him a scathing glare and threw back the bed clothes. Unrepentantly nude, the mage rose from the bed and Fenris’ eyes widened, tracking down his body even as his ears grew hot. For the first time since they’d left the Deep Roads and the Warden Commander, Anders didn’t take the opportunity to get under Fenris’ skin. Instead, he strode around the elf, moving to the small wardrobe in the room.

“Go tell Hawke I want a set of the rogue armor that dwarf sent from Rivain. I’ll be damned if I fight the Templars in bloody robes.”

Fenris turned, eyes eating up the clean, tight lines of Anders back, his ass, the long legs. His mouth was bone dry and he was temporarily unable to put thought into action.

“A bit moon struck, are you? I promise, if we survive this, Elf, I’ll parade around naked just so you can look your fill. Right now, I need that armor.”

Fenris hissed a curse and tore his gaze away, stalking past Anders, blushing. “I loathe you.”

Anders head whipped to the side. “What did you say?”

“I loathe you, _mage_.” Fenris couldn’t decipher the look on Anders face, but whatever he’d thought the elf said had obviously been a shock.

“Right. I loathe you too.” The man turned back to the wardrobe, pulling out a light tunic and ignoring him.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, jerked the door open and left to find Hawke.

* * *

At least the elf didn’t slam the door when he left. As soon as he was alone, Anders sagged a bit against the heavy furniture in front of him. He’d thought… Maker, how crazy would it have been if Fenris had actually said what he thought he heard? Crazier than the burst of _yes, thank the Maker, yes_ that had made him dizzy?

Snorting at himself, and at the stupidity his sleep-addled mind conjured, he pulled the tunic over his head and moved to the dressing table. His hair was in all sorts of disarray, bangs in his eyes, so Anders made quick work of fixing it. There was little worse than getting stabbed because his unruly locks had blinded him.

 _I really have a knack for getting myself into the oddest life-threatening situations. I should work on that._ Anders looked at himself in the silvered-glass and couldn’t help but smirk. First the Architect, then the Mother, then the Qunari, and now the Chantry and the Circle, for a mage who’d only ever wanted a pretty face, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools, he certainly seemed good at entangling himself in battles with fairly far reaching consequences.

The door opened and Garrett stepped inside. “Here, it’s a good thing we’re of a size.”

Anders took the outfit and nodded. “If I’m going to fight, I want the Templars to have to work at killing me. I won’t make it easy for those bastards to overwhelm me by wearing robes.”

Hawke grinned and looked at his own attire. “Thankfully the Mantle of the Champion isn’t robes at all. Not that I’d expect anyone to mistake me for someone else.”

“Ah, the price of fame.” Anders smiled, but it didn’t last. 

He dressed quickly, Garrett helping his with some of the buckles. Where Anders matched him breadth, he was nowhere near as thickly muscled. “Do you want blades? Or a staff?”

“Staff.”

“I have one. It was Beth’s…” Garrett’s voice faded.

“No, I can’t take it. I’ll be fine with the crappy enchanted one I have.”

“No. No, I want you to have it. It’s called ‘Freedom’s Promise’.”

Anders wanted to reject it, but Hawke’s face was set, determined. He nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

The two men left the room, but Garrett put out an arm before Anders could take the first step downward. “In case I don’t have a chance later, Anders-“

“Oh, no. No sappy good-byes from you, Garrett Hawke. We’re going to deal with this, we’re going to survive, and then you are going to go broke getting me good and shit faced.”

Hawke laughed. “Between you and Fenris, I’m suddenly feeling like there’s no way we can’t win.”

“Suddenly? Bullshit, you have more confidence than a thousand well-trained men. And what about Fenris?”

“He… He apologized for his behavior the other morning. Told me I was the first friend he’d ever had and that my friendship meant more to him than anything else he’d accomplished since he ran from Danarius. He told me there was no way he’d let _his_ mages stand alone. Then he… he hugged me! Just grabbed me round the shoulders and embraced me.”

“Fenris? Ex-slave from Tevinter? Branded with lyrium? Vehemently anti-mage and magic?” Anders pretended to check Garrett’s temperature. “Are you hallucinating?”

Hawke swatted his hand away, angry. “I know you think it’s a joke. But it isn’t. And I won’t make light of what I know had to have been an extremely daunting thing for him to do, simply for your entertainment.”

Anders was properly chastised. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve noticed some things recently. But now isn’t the time to worry or even think about Fenris.” He headed down the steps, the paused to look back at Garrett. “ _His_ mages?”

“That’s what he said. I’m pretty sure he’d as soon sunder every other magic user as to look at them, but I think me and Merrill and you, we’ve become exceptions to his rule.”

“It’s a start.”

Hawke retrieved his sister’s staff while Anders swallowed an orange nearly whole, followed by two thick pieces of toasted bread smeared with gooseberry preserves. 

“This is it. I think Beth would have liked you to have it.” Garrett smiled, a turn of lips both sad and pleased, and raked his gaze over Anders’ tall form. “She’d have certainly liked you, anyway.”

Anders laughed. “Are skinny, warden apostates a Hawke type?”

“One of them at any rate. Come on, Varric, Merrill, and Fenris are waiting outside. We have to get to the Gallows.”

When they emerged into the Hightown plaza, Anders was surprised to see Aveline and her husband Donnic waiting with the others.

“The Knight-Commander will have no aid from my guard. Donnic and the men are right now getting people back into their homes and setting up defensive positions. My men will protect this city from all dangers, whether they wear the colors of the Chantry or not.”

Hawke stepped into Aveline, one arm curling around her upper arm, squeezing lightly. “You should stay with them, Aveline.”

“Bullshit. Donnic will lead them as I would and my place, Hawke, is at your side.”

Anders saw the shimmer of tears in Garrett’s eyes and looked away, himself not unmoved by the Guard-Captain’s vehemence, the strength of her loyalty. Hawke cleared his throat and stepped away, looking at the five people he’d spent most of the last seven years with and he smiled.

“Anders says I’m to go broke buying the drinks afterward. Sounds like a plan to me.”

Aveline kissed her husband, their whispered ‘I love you’s’ not missed by Anders or the others. When the tall, red-haired woman fell in step beside him, the mage gave her an odd look.

She bumped his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your clinic, Anders.”

Too often, in recent history, he’d lumped Aveline in with all he thought was wrong. He did it spitefully, he was well aware, but despite this she’d still done her best to protect him. She did it because he was important to Hawke, but also because despite everything, he’d been doing good work and Aveline respected that above all else.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a shit to you lately. It still pisses me off you handed over mages to the Circle, but I know you well enough to understand if you did, it was for a good reason.”

“Bloody hell, Anders, are you going soft in the head?” She chuckled as the group made their way from the market and into Lowtown.

“Just thinking if I’m about to die, there might be a couple of things I should clear up before I go.”

“You’re an ass. But one who’s saved many lives and given up much to do so.”

Anders was going to give the Captain a smart assed comment, but his words were stopped as they came to the landing into the Lowtown bazaar. 

“I will have the Tower searched top to bottom!”

“You can’t do that. You have no right!”

Meredith made a cutting gesture with her hand. “I have every right. You are harboring blood mages and I will root them out before any more of them taint this city!”

First Enchanter Orsino threw up his hands. “Blood magic. Where do you not see blood magic? My people cannot cough without you claiming maleficar and putting them to the brand or the blade!”

“Enough, _mage_. I am out of patience.”

“You never had any to begin with!”

Hawke stepped to the pair. “Enough of this, both of you.”

“This is not your concern, Champion.” Meredith barely managed not to spit on Hawke, her reply so venomous.

“Champion, ha! The people have already named him their Viscount, but you continue to stall his appointment because you know he would stop your mindless search for things that don’t exist.”

“He is a mage sympathizer!”

“Anyone that disagrees with you is, so far as you can see. And I asked him here, hoping he might be able to talk some sense into you. You’ve already turned against the Grand Cleric, Meredith, when will your madness cease!” Magic curled around Orsino’s hands, his frustration seeping out through his pores. “You are insane.”

It was over before Hawke or the First Enchanter could react. Meredith’s sword pulled from her back and cut through the Lowtown afternoon without even a whisper. Blood sprayed Hawke, flecked the Knight-Commander’s face, and Orsino’s body fell to its knees, headless.

“As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed. Immediately!”

“What? No! She’s insane!” Anders staggered on his feet unable to believe what he had just seen. Meredith had cut down the First Enchanter in cold blood, in the middle of Lowtown, for no other reason than she no longer wanted to hear him speak.

“And you,” her blade swung toward Hawke. “I demand you aid me in my task.”

“Not a chance in the Void, bitch.” Garrett blasted the Knight-Commander and her retinue with a fireball, sending them flying backward through the air.

She rose with malignant rage glowing from her face. “Then you have made your choice. Men, to the Gallows!”

“Hawke, we have to reach the mages first!” Anders grabbed hold of Garrett’s arm and pulled him away from the Knight-Commander.

They ran for the stairs to the Docks, cutting down Templars along the way, fighting beside Circle mages and apostates. Anders looked around and hoped to the Maker Meredith was equally as slowed. 

“Hawke!” Fenris’ shout drew the mage’s attention. “We have to hurry.”

A firestorm whipped through the air and Anders took a moment to cast a mass rejuvenation spell on everyone. One of the mages near him was backed into a corner and Anders cursed beneath his breath as the stupid bastard called on a demon and became an Abomination.

“Fuck! We can’t be fighting each other and the bloody Templars!” A cone of cold, followed by winter’s grasp, and Anders was about to slam through the frozen creature when a massive greatsword cut past him, shattering the thing into bits.

“There’s one for me!”

Anders didn’t know whether to hit Little Hawke or laugh at him. 

“Carver?”

“Brother.”

The two Hawkes clasped arms, Garrett pulling back, face full of confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I was… close. One of our scouts reported something was amiss this morning and I came to investigate.”

“I thought the Wardens weren’t allowed to involve themselves in these sorts of things.” There was an edge in Garrett’s tone, a reflection of the way the Wardens had walked away from the Qunari uprising as much as it spoke to the rivalry between the brothers.

“I’m not a Warden right now. I’m your brother. And I’ll fight with you, if you’ll have me.”

Garrett grinned. “Always, Carver.”

As one the seven of them tore down the steps to the docks. Like in Lowtown, though, they were beset by blood mages and Templars. Anders cursed aloud as he faced off against a blighted rage demon. He was furious - at the damned blood mages and the Circle- and channeled his anger into his spells. They didn’t have the time to waste on these fools, there were innocent people waiting like so much fodder for the Knight-Commander.

“Aahh!” 

Anders spun around, falling backward, barely avoiding the razor sharp edge of a Templar blade, only to stagger further away when Fenris, glowing with lyrium-fire, appeared out of the air, his massive sword slamming into the Templar, cutting the man in two.

“Mage, come on!” The elf grabbed hold of Anders’ collar and drug/pulled him toward a waiting ship. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the mage aboard before stepping on as well.

Anders straightened his clothes and gave the elf a nod. “Thanks for that.”

“If you die there’ll be no more cookies. I like cookies.”

Fenris smirked and Anders threw back his head and laughed. “Maker, now you’re making jokes at inappropriate moments too? Will wonders never cease?”

Apparently not, since the elf decided right then was the perfect time to grab Anders by the back of the neck and pull him close for a savage, passionate kiss.

* * *

“Will wonders never cease?” Anders mouth was open, laughter spilling out and his eyes sparkled with life, with ebullience, and Fenris forgot everything else.

He forgot they were on a boat, crossing the harbor to the Gallows, forgot they were fighting a likely unwinnable battle, forgot that all of his friends were staring at them with varying looks of surprise. He reached out, grabbed Anders and jerked the human close and took what he wanted.

Fenris doubted he was a very good kisser, but he didn’t care. Anders lips were soft and parted and he took advantage, slipping his clawed hand into soft hair, fisting it tight and plunged his tongue past the hard edge of teeth. He tugged at the strands, forcefully, and the mage stepped into his body. With a grunt, Fenris wound his other arm around Anders’ back, drifted down to his waist, and dug his fingers in tight. He withdrew his tongue to change the angle of their connection, a tiny pause before melding their flesh again, the intensity of his desire doubling when Anders’ hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling tight, the mage kissing him back with abandon.

Fenris groaned, tongue tangling with the human’s, the taste of him lyrium and citrus. Anders moaned, teeth biting at his lower lip before he yielded, opened wider to take more of Fenris, then pushing the elf for more with every crush of his mouth, every sharp sting of passion. Fenris was dizzy, dropping the arm at the mage’s back lower, sinking his fingers into the taut ass, pulling Anders closer and grinding his own pelvis hard against the man in his arms. His cock throbbed, his whole body vibrating with the thunder rush of hunger, the wild emotions whipping through him, screaming for consummation.

“Holy. Shit.”

Fenris released Anders immediately. Varric’s voice brought reality slamming into focus and he reeled, the boat rocking a bit beneath him. Holy shit was right. He wiped the bare palm of one hand over his lips, shuddering as even that light contact echoed through him. His gaze moved to Anders and found the mage looking as stunned and aroused as Fenris felt.

“Did Fenris-“

“Hush, Merrill.” Aveline’s soft whisper stopped the Dalish from finishing her question.

Anders moved back and Fenris tracked every shift of his body. The mage lifted a hand, the fine tremors unmistakable, and the elf felt a surge of dark satisfaction. 

“I think he likes more than cookies.” Varric’s proclamation broke the tension.

Fenris watched color blossom on Anders cheeks, the softest touch of pink and smirked. 

No one spoke for the rest of the short journey. As they disembarked at the Gallows, Fenris looked around them and shook his head. The broken lifeless bodies of both mage and Templar were strewn across the heavy stone floor. As they made their way to the Tower proper, Hawke slowed as he recognized the mage leading the defense.

After making quick work of the few remaining Templars, Hawke approached the boy. “Alain?”

“Champion? Have you come to finish what the Knight-Commander started?” The young man called a fire ball, wary, unsure.

“No. I’ve come to protect the mages.”

“Champion!”

“Go, Alain. Gather the mages that haven’t fallen to blood magic. I will make my way to you.” Hawke waited until the boy was out of sight to turn and face Meredith.

“Meredith. Do we do this here? Now?”

“I should have known you would side with them. No, go, prepare the mages for what is to come and know you will share their fate. The rest of the order is crossing the harbor as we speak.”

Hawke nodded to his group, and everyone fell back, Fenris looking over to see Anders at Garrett’s opposite side as they moved into the Tower courtyard. Hawke burned through the ropes holding the portcullis open and the heavy iron gate slammed closed.

“Anders, is there an exit from the Gallows in here?”

Anders nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we need to start funneling what mages we can out. With the entirety of Kirkwall’s Templars soon to be here, they should have a good chance of escaping to freedom.”

Fenris nodded in agreement and followed Anders deeper into the Tower. It didn’t take them long to find Alain, surrounded by terrified mages, in a quasi-garden.

“Alain, we must get them out. Follow me!” Fenris watched as Anders looked over the people, so many of them young, still but children. 

He saw the anger flash over his features, saw the mage’s body tighten with rage a moment before he whirled on Fenris.

“Look at them! Look, Fenris! They’re children! Children and she would have them cut down for simply being born.”

The elf lifted a brow then sighed; he would not have this argument now. “You may berate me for my hate later. We need to get them free before the Templars attack.”

Anders clenched his jaw and spun away, snagging the two smallest magelings in his arms. “Let’s go.”

The mage led them through the Gallows, to a neglected section of the Tower and down, down, into the dark, empty tunnels that ran beneath every inch of the City of Chains. Anders released his burdens and turned to Alain. 

“Follow this tunnel, straight out, don’t deviate. It’ll dump you on Sundermount. Try to avoid the Dalish if you can. If you can’t, showing them you’re a mage might help. Hawke, or I, or someone will come to you as soon as we can. Keep out of sight and stay together. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Thank you, Healer.” 

It was obvious the boy wanted to say more but Anders shoved him down the tunnel. “Go, hurry.”

He and Fenris stayed where they were until the last mage disappeared from view.

“Even I would find it difficult to kill children, mages or no.”

* * *

Anders felt sick as he turned to the elf. “I know. I shouldn’t have- Fuck, it’s just… I’m sorry, alright. We need to get back.” He stepped past Fenris and climbed the ladder up.

By the time they made it back to the courtyard, Hawke and the rest were almost completely surrounded by Templars. 

“Shit. Go!” Anders shoved Fenris down the stairs even as he called a firestorm down. Focusing on the lieutenants among the combatants, he fired off several more spells before taking position behind a burning barricade and calling on his spirit healing, burning through mana to keep the others alive.

It seemed to take forever, but finally he heard the clang of swords, of shields against armor stop and Anders dropped to his knees, almost empty.

“Here, drink these.” Aveline opened three lyrium potions, which he swallowed gratefully, followed by a restoration potion. 

Feeling like he could at least function again, he let the Guard-Captain help him up. “Who needs healing?”

Thankfully, none of Hawke’s group had more than superficial injuries which Anders dealt with quickly. Looking around at everyone, he had a moment of awe. _By the Maker, we are bad ass._

As if he could read minds, Varric gave a dark chuckle. “You know how I say messing with us is suicidal? Right now, I’m thinking we are the baddest motherfuckers this place has ever seen.”

Hawke and Aveline both barked loud, sharp laughs. “If Isabela was here, she’d clap you on the back for a curse well done.” The big Ferelden woman bumped him with her shield and the dwarf tottered with another chortle.

“It’s time to finish this.”

United by blood shed for one another, for late nights filled with cards and camaraderie, by a loyalty that went deeper than the skin, Hawke led his companions back into the Gallows courtyard to face the Knight-Commander and her Templars.

“At long last, Champion.”

Anders looked at Hawke as he stepped toe to toe with Meredith. “Honestly, I thought you were going to let everyone else do your fighting for you.”

“Oh, no. I allowed you to stay free of this Circle, partly because of your status and partly because you were useful. But no more. In siding with the mages, you will share their fate.”

Knight-Captain Cullen stepped to the side. “I thought we were going to arrest Hawke.”

“You will follow orders, Cullen.” Meredith’s face grew ugly with contempt.

“No. I stayed silent when others said you were mad, but this is too much. You go too far.”

“I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!” Meredith withdrew the long blade at her back, the one she’d used to behead the First Enchanter.

“Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks.” Varric whispered low even as Anders eyes widened. 

_By the Maker._

“You recognize it, don’t you? Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for it.”

“That blighted thing is tainted, Meredith. It drove Bartrand mad and it’s done the same to you. It is corrupted with a darkness you cannot hope to overcome.”

She sneered at him, waving the sword as she turned to the men and women behind her. “All of you, I want him dead.”

“No! The order does not kill in cold blood, we do not slaughter the innocent. Knight-Commander, step down. I am relieving you of your position.” 

Cullen moved closer to Hawke and Anders wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that Meredith was obviously possessed by the idol, it’s taint likely twisting her already paranoid mind into complete insanity, or the Knight-Captain allying himself with an apostate mage.

“You! You have fallen to the influence of blood magic!” She turned slowly, sword tip out, looking at all the Templars. “You all have! But I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you! I will destroy the Champion myself!”

Cullen drew his sword. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

Meredith gave an ugly smile. “Then so be it.”

Anders cast a look at Hawke and the two men nodded at each other. When the Knight-Commanders slammed her blade into the ground and began to channel the idol’s corrupted power, Anders felt he was as ready as he could be for the battle about to begin.

A flash of blue in his periphery drew his gaze and he found Fenris at his side, blade up, lyrium pulsing. “It begins, mage.”

He didn’t know why, but for some reason the elf’s words made him smile. “Can we kill her fast? I’m really tired.”

Fenris grunted and jumped away, clashing with a Templar loyal to Meredith, while Anders released bolt after bolt of chain lightning. _Finally, I get to throw lightning at fools,_ he laughed to himself as he cut his way through the knights, then through animated statues, switching between offensive spells and spirit healing as wave after wave of enemies seemed to fall from the sky.

He had no idea how long they’d been fighting, when suddenly Hawke slammed his staff into the Knight-Commander and brought her to her knees. She staggered back to her feet, her entire body haloed in a red glow, bloody lightning crackling around her, ruby fire burning from her eyes.

“I… will… not be defeated!” She screamed her rage at an advancing Hawke, plunging the tip of her sword into the stone and calling on her Maker for more power.

And then she exploded, screaming, wailing, corrupted lyrium boiling through her flesh, tearing her apart from the inside, burning her to cinder and ash, bits of her body flaking away even as what remained turned to searing, blackened stone.

No one moved for long moments, no one dared breathe. Anders looked at Hawke, who looked at Varric, then at Cullen. The Knight-Captain too was shocked, turning toward a lesser Templar. The knight hesitated, before running forward, a sharp shake of her head confirming it was done. Meredith was no more.

The tension turned up, though, when Cullen stepped back but didn’t completely lower his sword. “Because you are the Champion, I will give-“

“No.” Aveline’s sword tip flashed through the air and found the smallest bit of purchase in the tender flesh of the Knight-Captain’s throat. “Donnic, bring them in!”

Anders had to choke back crazed laughter as the city guard poured into the Gallows, led by Aveline’s husband. The men and women who protected Kirkwall had only one loyalty, beyond what they shared between each other, and that was absolute and belonged to the woman currently holding the Knight-Captain at blade point.

“You will do nothing but fall to your knees and swear allegiance to the Viscount of this city. The nobility has spoken and Hawke chosen and there will be no more stalling. Fenris?”

Anders watched the elf stride toward Cullen, brands lighting as he walked. He gave Aveline a nod before plunging his hand through the Knight-Captain’s back.

“Maker, stop! No!”

Several Templars made to move in, but the guard quickly divested them of their weapons and their interest in getting involved.

“Do we understand one another, Knight-Captain?”

“Yes,” Cullen gasped, “The Templars will follow the will of the people.”

Fenris retracted his hand as one by one, the Templars fell to their knees, heads bowed.

“Well, that’s one way to become Viscount.” Hawke looked around, shaking his head.

Anders chuckled. “I don’t ever want to really piss her off.” He looked at the dwarf.

“I agree.” Varric shouldered Bianca. “Damn, I really need a quill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank the Maker I'm through that :D I actually really hate the fight at the end of the game and though this part was already written, it took me almost all day to edit it *blech*
> 
> Obviously, from here on, it's all my fanciful imaginings :D


	10. Chapter 10

_One month later…_

“The order is in disarray, Viscount. The other Circles have risen up, Templars have defected, the Divine has lost all control.”

Hawke looked across the desk at the new Knight-Commander and pursed his lips before looking over to Anders. “Thoughts?”

“You know how I feel about the Circle, but your idea isn’t a bad one. How many Templars remain in Kirkwall?”

Cullen shifted in his seat. “One hundred and fifty-seven at last count.”

“How many of them think all mages should be branded or dead?” 

Anders didn’t care if the question made the younger man uncomfortable. Unlike Hawke, or the others, he knew Cullen from the Ferelden Circle. There, he’d been a good man, the kind of Templar those who took the oath were supposed to be. But after what happened during the Blight, he’d been (perhaps understandably) affected by his captivity at the hands of blood mages. Still, Anders couldn’t forgive Cullen’s words from many years ago, when he claimed mages weren’t even human. In short, he didn’t trust the man farther than he could throw him.

“None.”

“Do you have the balls to change, Templar?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing to try.”

Anders wasn’t sure if he believed the man, but they needed to do something. He turned to Hawke. “Then I’d say there’s no reason not to do it. Thedas can’t change overnight. There are mage children being abandoned left and right at the docks, escapees from other lands seeking not only refuge but protection. But if we do this, it has to be without bars, without cells. The Gallows has to be a place where the mages are safe, not jailed.”

“Agreed. First and foremost, the Tower must be a center for learning, a place where mages can come and learn to control their talents and defend against demons.” Hawke picked up a quill and began to write. “Second, the Templars will be vigilant, but they won’t restrict the movement of the mages. They are to protect the mages from outside attackers as much as from the temptations of the Fade.”

Anders nodded. “There are a lot of mages that don’t want to live outside a Circle. They’re as terrified of the larger world as many outside are of them.”

“The Harrowing, or something similar, should still be undergone, but with the guidance of a senior enchanter and not with the threat of Templar blades. If a mage falls, a senior enchanter can slay the apprentice in the Fade, effectively making them Tranquil without the need for a brand.”

“I agree and I’ve already spoken with several of the older mages about this as well. They’ve heartily approved.” Cullen leaned forward. “I would strike the rite of Tranquility completely, but there have been a few mages who have requested it.”

Anders cursed, but couldn’t refute the Knight-Commander’s words. “It sickens me, but you’re right. There are mages that simply cannot handle the hand fate has dealt them. But the rite is only to be used when absolutely necessary.”

Cullen nodded and Hawke dipped his quill. “Funding will come from the sales of enchanted items as well as a stipend from the city. The Chantry is doing much better now that Elthina has returned, but with so many more mages here than ever before, we all need to help out.

“Beyond all of this, I have decreed that in Kirkwall, mages are free to marry, to own property, to have and raise children, and to own businesses. Mages who commit crimes will be judged in the same manner as other men, after they have erred and not before. I know well that mages have abilities normal people don’t, but between the Templars and the guard, I believe we are prepared to put down any maleficarum or Abominations with little loss to innocents. Moreover, since Meredith's removal, we haven't had a single incident of blood magic in the city or the outlying areas.”

Cullen made to speak, but Hawke held up his hand. “It isn’t a perfect solution and if the blameless die, I will bear that guilt myself. But locking the mages up and treating them like a criminal has served no one. We will see if treating them like human beings does.”

The Knight-Commander was quiet but finally he nodded. “The Guard-Captain has agreed to take on Templars to serve under her command. They will be assigned to details in the city so if anything happens one of the Order will be able to aid in the fight.”

“A sound plan. I think this is a good start. If a Circle must remain in Kirkwall, one that’s as free as possible is at least something I can tolerate. I hate to rush off, but the clinic needs its healer. Gentlemen.” Anders gave Hawke a small bow and the man laughed as he waved him out.

“Go. Will I see you later?”

“Me, miss Wicked Grace with Isabela? You will definitely see me later.”

Anders left the Keep in good spirits. In the last few weeks, a majority of the city had been repaired and other than a few more ‘apostates’ milling the markets, Kirkwall seemed to have resumed life mostly unchanged. It never failed to surprise him how easily people slipped back into their routines.

He laughed softly realizing he was subject to the same penchant. The new clinic had been moved to Lowtown, to an empty store near Lirene’s. Anders wasn’t certain he wanted to stay in Kirkwall permanently, but when Garrett asked him to help put together a new kind of Circle, and had refused to accept anything but a yes, he’d decided to open another clinic. Not all of his clients were destitute now and though he still refused to charge, Anders received a steady income of donations which kept the place stocked with bandages and potions.

He made his way toward the clinic, waving at Elegant when she called out a greeting. 

“Sorry, Orana. I left Hawke as soon as I could.”

The little elf had finally found the courage to leave the estate after the mess in the Gallows and much to Anders surprise and delight, she proved to be an excellent medic.

“It’s alright, Me-Anders. No one has come in yet that needed magic.”

“Good. Why don’t you go see Varric and bring us back some lunch?”

“Of course.” She gave him a bright smile and brief curtsy before hurrying out the door.

“At least I managed to get her to call me Anders. Most of the time.” He spoke to no one as he moved through the small reception area and into the treatment room.

“Hell-ooo! Anders! Is Anders in here?”

He shook his head. “Back here, Isabela.”

The Rivaini sauntered into the room. “Oh, it’s so shiny.”

“Varric said you’d returned. I thought you might stay in Starkhaven, just to see if you could corrupt Choir Boy.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I’m headed back there in another few days.”

“Bela! Are you serious?”

She gave him a lascivious grin. “You doubted me? I’m almost offended.”

Anders shook his head. “Do you think that’s really a good idea?”

A strange look, one that was soft and a bit pensive, flashed over her features. “Two weeks on a boat does strange things to a body.”

“I know how you feel about permanent, but I don’t think Sebastian Vael is interested in passing fancies. Do be careful. I don’t think Hawke wants to fight another nation for you.”

Isabela stuck her tongue out at him, then cocked a hip in her trademark pose. “Enough about me. What is this Varric tells me? You and Fenris, lip-locked on the way to fight the Knight-Commander? It gives me a shiver just thinking about it.”

Anders laughed. “So predictable. But I’ll go one better. Merrill and one of your naughty books. A book so important that I retrieved it for her, along with some ancient _Elvhen_ tomes after she was attacked.”

Bela tossed her head back, low lusty chuckles rolling from her throat. “Kitten is so precious. She said she and Hawke were having ‘so much fun trying out the pictures’.” Her smile faded a bit. “I’m glad she’s with Garrett. They’re good for each other… which brings me right back to you and the elf.”

“Bela, there’s nothing I can tell you. Besides, you’ve seen him more in the last month than I have. Hawke sent him to Starkhaven as some kind of ambassador.”

“I know, but I only saw him for a couple of days. We made good time there, only took about a week. I was getting ready to come back here when his ship landed. After which, of course, I had to bring that old woman back with me. I guess she’s alright, for a Chantry leader. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What does is Fenris refused all of my advances. Instead he spent his time sewing. Can you believe that? Sewing over sex! He isn’t very good, but he’s absolutely adorable when he does it, face all frowny, biting his lower lip as he makes stitches.”

Anders lifted a brow. “I remember him asking Orana to show him how to darn socks, but I didn’t realize it had become a hobby.”

“Mmm. So you mean, after the battle when everyone was full to brimming with left over excitement and energy, nothing happened?”

He shook his head. “I was damn near tapped out. I barely made it to the estate before I collapsed. And the days that followed are just as much of a blur. There were hundreds of people to look after. By the time Hawke had asked him to travel to Sebastian, I think I’d only just taken care of the last patients from the Templars advance through the city.”

“They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Anders didn’t reply, her words a little closer to the truth than he felt comfortable sharing. In fact, the last two weeks had been a sort of agony as he realized just how much he missed Fenris. It was ridiculous, a couple of kisses and a couple of awkward masturbatory events, but he was slowly going insane with inescapable desire for the white-haired, prickly, reserved ex-slave. And more than that, though Anders refused to think about the ‘more’.

“I see I’m not the only one dealing with a bit of confusing sentiment.” 

Anders looked up and saw the real Isabela, the soft-hearted overly careful woman she rarely shared with anyone. “Maybe so. Really, could either of us possibly have picked worse obsessions? You and a chantry priest and me with a mage-hating elf?”

“They say the Maker has an odd sense of humor.”

“He has something.”

The outer door opened and he gave her an apologetic grin. “Back to work. You’re playing tonight, right?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

She gave him a wave as she turned to go. He followed her out, giving the small, elderly elf woman waiting a warm smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”

* * *

If Fenris didn’t have to be on a ship again, it still might be too soon. He’d never liked travelling by boat, but two long voyages with barely a week on dry land between them had him wishing he could fly. Or knew a dragon.

“We’ll be in Kirkwall by nightfall, Ambassador Fenris.”

Fenris nodded to the captain and turned back to gaze out at the sea. Whatever had possessed him to accept Hawke’s offer, and become Kirkwall's ambassador, Fenris was beginning to question. When he’d told Garrett there was surely a better choice, the man had firmly told him that wasn’t the case. Aveline was the guard-captain. Varric a merchant prince of a sort, Sebastian had returned to reclaim his throne, Merrill wasn’t going _anywhere_ without Hawke, and Anders couldn’t be pried from the ill and injured. Isabela wasn’t even an option and neither was Carver, so that left Fenris.

The elf hadn’t wanted the position and certainly didn’t want the stipend or the official title that came with it, but he couldn’t refuse Garrett, even if he wanted to. Looking back, that was the crux of it. Hawke needed him. Still, three weeks was a long time away from Kirkwall. A long time away from Anders.

The mage rarely left his thoughts. Thedas was burning, mages gone wild, Templars gone rogue, and all he could think about was an ex-possessed, ex-Warden healer. So much time gave one space to think, to worry, to question, and to change one’s mind. While his remained firmly entangled with Anders, there was no guarantee the mage was likewise encumbered. After all, regardless their chemistry, Fenris remained almost-hostile in his wariness of mages and Anders surely still believed they shouldn’t be treated as the potential threat they were. 

Tucking his fingers inside his chest piece, he pulled out the single piece of tattered cloth hidden there. He’d spent the better part of a month carefully putting the remnants back together. It wasn’t easy, the pattern of embroidery already on it his only guide. And there was a piece still missing. How he might retrieve that, he had no idea, but he would find a way. If nothing else came of it, if the mage thanked him (even if he didn’t), Fenris would know he had done something that had meaning for Anders. Hopefully, they could continue to mend the bridges between them and perhaps be real friends eventually.

He smiled to himself as he thought if the mage did thank him, more cookies would be nice. Actually, more food of any kind was a good thing. While he’d been in Starkhaven, Sebastian had tried to serve him all sorts of new dishes, but for some reason, he’d been reluctant and had in fact stuck with fare he knew, much to the prince’s consternation. Maybe it was because he didn’t know who prepared the food. Maybe it was because he sat with Sebastian and other dignitaries and noble families of Starkhaven and had felt under a glass.

The sea rushed past the bow and Fenris sighed. He was tired and he wanted to be home. In his room, he carried official documents allying Starkhaven with Kirkwall. He also held similar official decrees from the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, the Margrave of Ansburg, and the Teryn of Ostwick. In this thing, at least, the Free Marches were united, perhaps for the first time in its long history. To move against Kirkwall would be to move against all the Marches, and considering they were the bread basket of Thedas, aggression would be extremely unwise. 

Fenris was no fool, however, and was well aware part of the reason the other leaders had been so quick to give their support was because Kirkwall remained the largest and most powerful of the city-states and word spread quickly at the prowess of its guard, it’s Qunari defeating mage of a Viscount, and the changes to its Circle. If any of the other Marcher cities thought they could sweep in and take over, they understood quickly that was not the case. Better to have the backing of such a powerful metropolis than its ire.

He stood there for a long time, just watching the waves, until finally the Twins came into view. Excitement thrummed through him and he turned from the bow headed for his room. By the time the boat slipped into her berth, he’d be ready to disembark, put his feet on dry land, and if nothing else, seek out a dwarf for a much needed bottle of wine. He certainly deserved it.

* * *

By the time the ship docked, it was well past nightfall. Despite the harbor master being well aware of whom he was, Fenris was not allowed off the deck until everything was checked and double checked, all declarables declared. Only then was he given leave to step ashore, though by that time, the elf was having a hard time keeping hold of his temper. 

He made his way from the docks to Lowtown in with little delay but chose to bypass the Hanged Man in favor of returning the documents in his satchel straight to Hightown. With any luck, Hawke would still be in his office and Fenris could make his report and take his leave without needing to return in the morning.

The guards outside the Viscount’s Keep saluted Fenris and held the door. He nodded to a few more men as he took the stairs two at a time, knowing he hurried but unable to slow himself. He entered the suite and heard Hawke laughing at someone.

“Bran, if you don’t like the job, you’re more than welcome to step down.”

“Viscount, I am honored to remain in your service. I merely thought-‘

“Look, you can't fucking stand me. I don’t really care. So long as you do your job and do it well, you’ll keep your position. But if I think for even a moment your loyalty is to anyone but me, I’ll let Aveline cut your balls off.”

“Or I could always rip out his heart.” Fenris stepped into the room and Seneschal Bran looked like he might pass out.

“Fenris!” Hawke was around the desk, pulling the elf close, pounding his back with hearty thumps. “It’s about time you got back! I was starting to think Sebastian talked you in to leading his armies.”

“Unlikely. He offered, again, but Starkhaven is not to my tastes.” Fenris patted his friend on the back, feeling awkward and ungainly.

Garrett released him, then took his shoulders in his hands. “If I recall correctly, cookies are to your tastes.”

Fenris smirked even though his ears warmed. “I’ve come bearing the seals of the other Marcher leaders.”

Hawke looked past the elf. “You’re dismissed, Bran.”

“Of course, Viscount. Ambassador.”

Garrett led Fenris to a chair then perched himself atop the desk. “How did you manage that?”

“It was more Sebastian than I.” He lifted the flap and pulled out the parchments. “Speaking of, Vael asked me to have you send the details of your ‘open Circle’ to him and he would see what he could do about establishing one in Starkhaven.”

“That is good news, Fenris.” Hawke sorted through the parchments before laying them on his desk. “Damn, man, it is really good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“And I you. I hadn’t realized how much time I spent with you and the others until I didn’t have Varric’s cajoling or Aveline’s prodding constantly in my ears.”

“I’m sure you missed more than that.” Garrett lifted a brow.

Fenris returned the look. “I should clarify: the inane prodding of all of you.”

Hawke laughed. “I know you’ll probably be angry with me, but I took a liberty or two while you were away.” He turned, rummaging through a stack of papers, before he found what he was looking for. “As Viscount I can deed property to whomever I like. The mansion in Hightown is yours.”

Fenris took the parchment and a large key from Garrett, uncertain what to say. Though he couldn’t read most of the page, there was one word he recognized. “That’s my name. Fenris.”

“It is. Also, well, the Templars weren’t quite as thorough with your place as the old clinic, but it was a wreck, worse than before, which I thought impossible. So I had it cleaned up, repaired, the roof replaced, and furnished.”

Fenris’ eyes widened. He didn’t know whether to be angry or immensely grateful. “Hawke, you didn’t need to do that. You probably shouldn’t have.”

“I know you’re probably pissed and relieved right now, but the truth is Fenris, it was the least I could do. Besides, it wasn’t just me. We all pitched in, even Merrill and Anders.”

“Why would you-“

“Because, Fenris. _You_ are one of ours. Besides, all of us were sick of looking at corpses every time we came for a visit.” Garrett grinned at him.

The elf was humbled, truly humbled, and decided to let his anger go. He wasn’t good about having his personal space invaded, but in this there had been no nefarious motivation. “Thank you, then. I don’t mean to leave things undone, but if you have no need of me, I would very much like to go home.”

“Of course! Oh, actually there is one more thing. I know you’re reading skills aren’t the best, but I’m supposed to make sure you can read these two words.” Hawke scribbled on a stray piece of paper and held it out to Fenris.

“Wel-wel-comb, no, wel-cum, welcome. Home.”

“Excellent! And really, welcome home.”

Fenris gave Hawke a small smile. “I shall see you later?”

“We’re having Wicked Grace tonight, if you want to stop by the Hanged Man. Isabela is leaving tomorrow, heading back to Starkhaven.”

The elf smirked at that. He suspected the pirate had set her sights on the prince. It was quite humorous really, especially since Sebastian Vael had been quite the rogue, at least as far as the man had shared with Fenris. He doubted Isabela realized just how well-matched she was in that particular game. 

“I will endeavor to be there.”

He left Hawke feeling relaxed and took his time returning to his estate. His, that word was so foreign to Fenris it felt like it belonged to another language. He looked down at the deed carefully rolled in his fist and wanted to laugh. As he breached the top of the stairs outside his door, the first thing he noticed was the lit lantern. Its golden hue spread out from the door, a warm and welcoming beacon in the dark. He fit the key into the lock, heard the tumblers drop, and pushed inside.

It smelled clean, fresh and faintly citrusy. He shut the door and reset the latch, pleased to see tapers lit in the foyer. Moving through the inner-door, he surveyed the large sitting room, and nodded in appreciation. True to his word, Hawke hadn’t gone overboard replacing the furniture, instead he’d chosen simple, well-made pieces and few of them as well. A small table, two chairs, an armor stand. 

A piece of parchment on the door to his right drew his attention. The page had a single arrow, pointing toward the ceiling. Fenris looked up, but saw nothing, and decided it meant for him to go through the door. He did, and found another on the next door. When he passed into the kitchen he found another, pointing to a large, pot-bellied jar.

Fenris rushed to it and pulled off the lid, and startled himself when a loud laugh echoed from his mouth. Inside, filled to the brim, were cookies. He immediately ate one, then another, before he saw the small note beside the container.

_Welcome home, Fenris.  
\- A._

Since he doubted Aveline had baked, he had no trouble deciphering who had left him the gift. And really, he hadn’t needed a letter to tell him what he knew. He laughed again as he set the deed on the sideboard and picked up the whole jar. Smiling, no doubt like a fool, Fenris ate cookies and walked through _his_ mansion.


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you planning to stay at the estate? With all the coin you have, you could buy your own, you know.”

Anders snorted. “Why? Hawke and Merrill live in the Keep with Ralph. Bodahn and Sandal left for Orlais a week ago. Apparently even with the Chantry in disarray, the Empress insisted they come, though the elder Feddic did say something about hoping he wasn’t going from the frying pan and into the fire. So it’s just me and Orana, though I think she might be ready to find a place of her own soon. If I’m not there, Hawke’s house would just molder.”

“I suppose you have a point, Blondie. About that other matter, do you want me to put it on the market? If you want my advice, I’d suggest holding off for a bit longer.”

Anders considered the question for a few minutes. “I trust you, dwarf. Do what you think’s best.”

Varric nodded. “Speaking of best, you really should invest some of that gold. Not that you don’t have enough, but it wouldn’t hurt to put those sovereigns to work making more.”

Anders shook his head. Never let it be said that Varric Tethras left a friend in need… or needy. “Alright. Take twenty percent of what I have and do with it what you will.”

“I love it when people let me play with their money.” The dwarf waggled his brows and Anders chuckled.

“How much longer?” Isabela plopped herself down on Anders’ knee, mug sloshing dangerously in her hand.

“I expect shortly. Come on, Rivaini, have a little patience. Hawke’s Viscount now, he can’t just pop in whenever he likes anymore.”

“You know, every time I think about that moment in the Gallows, when Aveline put her sword to Cullen’s throat and called in the guard, it still gives me shivers.” Anders grinned broadly.

“That woman is a force of nature and I’m damn glad she’s on my side. Speaking of people I want with me and not against me, Fenris returned.”

Isabela dropped her mug on the table. “When?”

“A few hours ago, if my information is good. And it’s always good.”

Anders tensed though he passed it off by waving Norah over. “Norah, love, could I get a loaf of bread and a bowl of your wonderful stew?”

“No shit! Think he’ll stop in?”

“I’m sure Hawke will do his best to see he does.”

“Oy! Corff! Bread and slop!” Norah smiled down at Anders, “anything else dearie?”

“You spoil me.” He kissed her knuckles and sent her off with a blush and a giggle.

“Did you hear Varric?” Isabela elbowed him and he winced.

“Yes, the Elf is back. I wonder how he took the news of his property ownership.” 

“I haven’t heard about any fights breaking out in the Keep so I’d wager pretty well. Besides, didn’t you leave him a jar crammed full of chocolate chips delights?”

“Cookies? Wait, what did I miss?”

“Rivaini, I told you, right before they practically mauled each other on the way to the Gallows, Fenris told Blondie here he couldn’t let him die. If he did, there’d be no more cookies.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Never mind. Call it an inside joke.”

Anders grinned. “I did indeed bake three dozen cookies for him. Though they’re a few days old now, but somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind. Did you see what Merrill gave him?”

“A Dalish flute or something like that.” Varric motioned for a refill of his mug.

Anders lifted Bela from his lap and set her in the seat between he and the dwarf as Norah approached with his meal. “It’s not unlike the _tibia_ he already knows how to play.”

“You all bought him presents?”

“House warming gifts. Hawke deeded Danarius’ old place to Broody.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, I’d have got him something too.” She gave a lovely pout and Varric shook his head. 

“Don’t worry, Rivaini, I covered you. Put a copy of your latest work on the bedside table.”

Isabela roared then leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss right on the dwarf’s mouth. “Varric, you know me too well. I owe you a bottle.”

The shorter man grumbled and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, though the crinkling at the corners of his eyes belied his put-off affectation. “Gross. I don’t know where your mouth’s been. Anders, better check me out.”

Anders laughed around a bite of bread when Isabela snarled and smacked Varric on the arm.

“Bastard.”

“So what did everyone else get?”

Anders finished his stew, swiping the last bits of bread through the hearty gravy. “Hawke, obviously, the house. And he paid to replace the roof as well as fix up most of the inside. I kicked in there too, and with the furniture. Aveline gave him a crate of Tevinter wine, removed from a group of slavers who sadly didn’t survive the encounter. Varric?”

“I procured some of the expensive armor polish he likes, as well as whet stones and sword oil. The latter was a piece of cake, the former took some work.” 

Anders tapped his chin. “I think that’s about it. I suppose you could tell Sebastian when you return, and he could send something back. Oh, and we all left him a note saying welcome home with our gifts.”

“Careful, Anders, your soft insides are showing.”

He shook his head and downed the last of his ale. “Shut up.”

“Finally, they arrive!” Varric lifted his hands as Hawke, Merrill, Aveline, and Donnic approached the table.

The patrons of the Hanged Man took note, a raucous cheer of ‘Viscount’ and ‘Captain’ echoing in equal measure. Both figures turned with a smile and a grin before settling in at the table.

“Maker, it’s been a month. When will they stop?” Hawke gave a slightly embarrassed huff.

“Maybe another month or two.” Aveline ribbed him.

“Aveline said Fenris returned. Will he be joining us?” Donnic tugged at his tunic, situating himself as Norah arrived, tray laden with frothing mugs. It was no secret the lieutenant and the elf had become rather good friends.

“He said he would, but I wouldn’t expect him too soon. After all, he has a house to discover.”

Aveline swallowed a mouthful of ale. “How did that go?”

Hawke leaned back, curling his arm around Merrill. “Spectacularly, if you want my opinion, he didn’t once snarl or growl or glow.”

“Then I’d say you’re right.”

Anders took another drink as he looked around the table and found himself smiling, more to himself than anyone else. Nights like these reminded him of another group of rag tag outsiders who’d all made their way into the acquaintance, and eventual friendship, of a larger than life character. A group so inconceivable that any passersby would be hard pressed to understand how the individuals had even met, let alone forged such obvious bonds of loyalty and affection.

Neria Surana and Garrett Hawke were simply those kinds of leaders. Ones who knew how to choose their friends, how to make people that should be enemies find commonality, how to form families out of foundlings. As he remembered evenings not unlike this, trying to match mug for mug with Oghren, debating Chantry doctrine with Nathaniel, teasing Sigrun about her never ending quest to die, Anders admitted he missed the Wardens and maybe, it was time he went to Amaranthine. Time to forgive the past.

“What do you say we take this upstairs?” Varric looked around the table and everyone agreed.

Anders followed Hawke, the last to take the stairs to the dwarf’s suite. “You look a bit pensive, my friend.”

Hawke turned a slightly worried eye on him and Anders shrugged. “I was thinking I have a way of falling in with some eclectic groups. And that it might be time for me to visit Amaranthine.”

Garrett raised a brow. “I recall you saying you weren’t going back.”

Anders gave him a reassuring pat. “Not permanently. But there are things I left undone. It’s been almost ten years, Hawke. It’s time.”

Hawke nodded. “Actually, I’m glad you said something.”

“Oh?”

“When are you planning to leave?”

“I don’t know, hadn’t gotten that far. I would want to find another healer, probably two, to fill in at the clinic while I’m gone. So, a month at least. Maybe longer.”

“That could work splendidly.”

“Work for what?”

“I sent a letter to the Warden Commander after I took the Viscount’s seat, looking to ally. I received a reply this morning. I was planning to send Fenris in a few weeks to make it all formal and official, but if you’re planning to travel there as well, then you should go together.”

Anders took hold of Hawke’s arm, stopping the man from entering the dwarf’s chambers. “I don’t need a keeper.”

“I didn’t say you did. Thedas is in an uproar, Anders. Even you can’t be fool hardy enough to think a mage travelling alone is a good idea right now. How many have arrived here in the last month barely clinging to life after having been captured by the roving bands of dangerous Templar zealots?”

Anders didn’t need to give a reply. The answer was too many. “The entire trip is by sea, Hawke, straight from the port here to the city.” At Garrett’s irritated frown, Anders held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I suppose you have a point. The Vigil is further inland and if we’re both heading that way, I won’t argue travelling on Kirkwall’s sovereign.” He smiled sweetly.

The other man gave a huff, but smirked at Anders assertion. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. It’s settled then. Now, how about we have a few mugs too many and lose some silver?”

“You can lose all the silver you like, Hawke.”

* * *

Hawke was indeed down nearly a sovereign, Isabela wasn’t quite in her cups but she was working hard to get there, and Aveline was fit to be tied after she lost another hand to Varric.

“So help me, dwarf, if you’re cheating…”

“My dear Captain, you wound me!”

“I doubt that.”

“Fenris!” 

Nearly everyone at the table rose to their feet and the next several minutes passed with the elf being squished, hugged, clapped on the back, and in general warmly welcomed back into the fold. It was a good thing the elf was otherwise occupied because there was no way Anders could hide the greedy way his gaze swept over that lithe, taut body, ate up every shift of his snow-white hair, every unsure flex of fingers and shrug of shoulders. He couldn’t stop himself, he’d been starved of the elf and wanted to gorge on Fenris until he was full again.

Neither Anders nor Varric got up. When the dwarf made a soft snort, Anders shot him a murderous look. Varric dipped his head and kept his mouth shut. Anders gaze shifted back to the elf and he smiled at the rather endearingly awkward way Fenris tried to reciprocate all the open affection, even from Merrill. It was obvious he had not expected such an exuberant reception and Anders noted the slight pinkening of his ears, and the way the elf tried and mostly failed to keep his aloof mask in place. By the time he took his seat at the table, there was even a little smile on those lovely, warm pink lips.

“It is good to be back. And thank you, all of you, for your kind gifts.”

“Who else was I going to give a box of fancy wine to?” Aveline nudged his shoulder.

“Indeed. The dwarf cannot appreciate it.”

“Hey, now, I can appreciate wine… after six or seven mugs of Corff’s ale!” 

Everyone laughed at that. Anders sat back and watched as each person chatted with the elf, asking about the trip, how Sebastian was, what Starkhaven was like (in Merrill’s case). 

“I… I thought, perhaps, I would play for you. That is, if no one objects? It’s been a long time, but I think I could manage something. As a token of my thanks?”

Anders couldn’t remember the elf ever speaking so many words in this large a group.

“Of course no one objects!”

Fenris looked very nervous, but he pushed back from his seat and pulled a small satchel Anders hadn’t notice from the floor. He removed the long, wooden, tube-like instrument from inside, and set it on the table before slipping a thin sliver of wood between his teeth.

“It’s made from Sylvan wood and carved out of one continuous section. Even the keys. The Dalish call it _era’sulahn_ , the dream song.”

Everyone, even Isabela, was silent, waiting with baited breath for Fenris to begin. He didn’t keep them in suspense for long, fitting the reed in the neck of the instrument and playing a few short notes, getting acquainted with the keys, the sounds each press or release evoked. Anders relaxed, pleased with the full-bodied tones, so unlike the flutes he was familiar with, both in Ferelden and the Anderfels. Or the popular string instruments many traveling bards played, this wooden implement had a deeper sound than the trilling flute, a richer, rounder quality than the twang of strings.

The elf moved through a few scales, then closed his eyes, and began to play. The piece was haunting, sad and soft, then bright for a moment, and serious again. Anders watched the lyrium lined fingers move, sure and confident, along the length of the wood, amazement washing over him at the breath control, the tonal perfection Fenris accomplished. Not a note out of place, not a hiss of air, the elf breathed in a circle so the only sound they could hear was the sound of the song, flowing effortlessly beneath skilled hands.

It was over too soon in Anders mind and as he looked around the table he thought his companions would agree. Each eye was riveted to Fenris as he drew out the last notes, wonder, surprise, and delight in balance on every face.

“That was amazing, Fenris!” Hawke smiled broadly, eyes wide.

“Absolutely beautiful.” Merrill sighed dreamily and pressed her head to Garrett’s shoulder.

“Maker, Fenris, you’ve a real talent there. Wonderful.” Aveline pressed her hand to his forearm and the elf ducked his head.

He replaced the _era’sulahn_ in his bag and retook his seat, shielding his face with his hair as the others fell into conversation once more. But Anders couldn’t pull his gaze away; the music had moved him as much as the dance, but in a more intimate, less physical way. Emotion crowded his throat and he swallowed hard around it. Maker, he had missed Fenris so much more than he’d admitted. He yearned, such a ridiculous word, but there it was. 

_Obsession indeed._

“Next rounds on me! Isabela, shuffle up and deal, I’ve gold to win and time is wasting.” Varric thumped his hand on the table, pulling Anders from his somewhat distressing train of thought. 

Putting on his own mask, he reached for his mug and drained it dry. “If Bela’s dealing, you aren’t winning, dwarf.”

And with that, thoughts of Fenris drifted to the back of his mind, there but simmering in reserve. For now, it was good enough for Anders.

* * *

“Come on, mage. It is time for you to go.”

Anders wasn’t quite shit faced, but he was definitely unsteady on his feet and feeling _exceptionally_ good, which was how he knew he wasn’t despicably drunk. Once one went that far, good was generally not how a man felt.

“Fenris, I am perfectly capable of getting myself home. Thank youverymuch.” Alright, maybe the elf had a point. His words were beginning to run together and as he blinked at the others he realized they were blurring together as well.

“Merrill and I can walk with you.”

Fenris made a snorting sound. “I doubt you’ll be much help, Hawke. Your arms will be full of Dalish.”

Garrett chuckled. “I suppose that’s true enough. But are you sure you can get him to the estate?”

“I carried him out of the Deep Roads, Hawke. I believe I can manage the trip to Hightown.”

Anders squinted and saw the nod Hawke gave the elf. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Good night, Hawke.”

Garrett pulled a sleepy Merrill to her feet before swinging the woman into his arms and leaving Varric’s suite.

“Let me help you get him to the door.” The dwarf pushed away from the table and moved to Anders’ side.

The mage frowned. “Maker, I can get up on my own.” To prove it, he shoved to his feet, then leaned heavily against one palm on the tabletop until he felt steady. Thankfully, nothing was spinning. Yet.

“Have it your way, Blondie. I’ll see you gentleman later.”

“You still owe me three sovereigns dwarf.”

“I’ll put it on my tab.”

“Deal.” Anders carefully made way around the table, through the door, and down the steps. Every few steps he felt Fenris hand grasp his arm or his coat, guiding him through the still full tavern until they made it to the street.

Once outside, Anders weaved a bit until Fenris took his right arm and draped it over his shoulders. “Lean into me and we may make it to Hawke’s house without me carrying you.”

“Ah, where’s the fun in that? It’s your turn, after all.”

Fenris snorted softly. “Thank you for the cookies, mage.”

“Are there any left, elf?”

“A few.”

Anders stumbled at the top of the stairs into the Hightown market. “Only a few? You’re a little glutton, aren’t you?”

Fenris made a raspy, growling sort of chuckle, and the mage tripped again, only keeping his feet thanks to the elf’s less compromised state. “Can you at least try to keep your feet?” He pulled Anders tighter to his side.

“You laughed. How can you expect a man to stay sure footed when you do that? It’s unbelievably sexy.”

He felt Fenris tense beside him. “Even now, you must poke at me.”

Anders couldn’t help himself. He shifted his arm from the top of the elf’s shoulder, to curve his fingers around his upper arm and squeezed the man close in a brief hug. “Actually, I’m being completely honest.”

Fenris said nothing as they strode the final stretch to the estate. Anders pulled away, pressing his un-companioned side to the wall while the elf opened the door. The walk had done little to clear his head and he was starting to feel very tired.

“Inside, mage. Do not pass out on the step.”

Anders grumbled but put one foot in front of the other, though Fenris had to prod him a few more times before they finally made it all the way inside and up the stairs toward the bedrooms. Orana had lit the fire and the room was very warm, too warm for the intoxicated mage.

“Hot.” Fingers fumbling, Anders managed to pull off his robes and tunic before dropping onto the bed, face up.

“What happened to you?” Fenris’ voice was… something. There was a strange, uncertain note in his soft baritone.

Anders lifted his head a bit and looked down. It was a good thing he was drunk, otherwise he’d probably have freaked out when he realized why Fenris had asked such an odd question. “Too drunk to maintain the glamour. Oh, well.”

“Glamour?”

“It hides them. Hides a lot.” He could barely keep his eyes open, now that he was in a soft bed, in the relative quiet, with only low light from the fire. “I’m gonna sleep now.”

* * *

True to his word, Anders was asleep moments later, legs half off the bed, boots still on. Fenris wasn’t sure what to do, more he was unsure how to deal with what he saw and the twisting emotions he felt.

Anders had scars, which in and of themselves might have meant little. It was the types of scars, their placement, the severity of the wounds that must have made them that affected the elf. The human’s torso wasn’t covered with them, no, every inch of that pale flesh wasn’t marred, but what was left no room to doubt the suffering endured.

Two long, thick, raised marks, ran parallel to each other down Anders’s sides and those two Fenris recognized. They were brands without question. Someone had applied a red-hot iron to his skin, in an almost delicate design, from perhaps two inches to the outside of each nipple, all the way to the man’s waist. The patterns were consistent, it was intentional and intricate and Fenris felt empathy he’d never known for another rise inside.

He stepped closer to the bed, noting other scars. A few looked to be from arrows, one or two from knives. As he’d seen, there was much skin unmarked, but those two, those two enraged him. He couldn’t help but wonder why the mage hid them, why he never displayed them. After all, an argument about the injustice done to mages would have been hard to dispute with this kind of evidence at hand. But Anders had never revealed them, at least not to him, had in fact implied he’d never personally suffered – beyond spending a year in solitary confinement – at the hands of the Circle.

Fenris truly didn’t know what to think. Angry, yes, and sorry for the pain he knew Anders had survived, but confused too. The more he thought about it, the longer he stared, the clearer things became. It wasn’t that Anders thought Fenris would sneer at his wounds, though at one point he might have – he might have said the mage probably deserved such treatment. No, more likely Anders didn’t wanted to change minds by resorting to exposing his own past for inspection, interrogation, or worse, pity.

With a sigh, the elf bent at the waist and undid Anders tall boots, removing them and setting the shoes at the foot of the bed. Then he gathered the mage, as best he could, and pulled him up the bed, tugging and jerking at the blankets until he had the man righted atop the mattress. As he tucked the edge of sheet around Anders shoulders, the mage managed to snag his fingers.

Fenris looked down, saw the man’s eyes closed, lips parted on a breath. “Missed you, Fenris.”

There was a tight clenching in his chest and the elf closed his eyes against the powerful surge of happiness. He squeezed the man’s fingers before laying his arm across his chest. “I missed you as well, Anders.”

Turning from the bed, Fenris collected the mage’s coat and tunic, placing them over a chair. When he moved to take one last glimpse of the human, a small piece of red caught his eye, the last piece of the puzzle. The elf retrieved it from the top of the bedside table and hoped Anders wouldn’t be too distraught by its absence.

Tucking the fabric inside his armor, Fenris left the estate. He had much to think about and a fair bit of sewing yet to do this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A tiny note: I wasn’t clear why Isabela took Sebastian and the Grand Cleric to Starkhaven. Anyone overly familiar with the map of Thedas (the Marches especially) might have been curious, since Starkhaven is to the north of Kirkwall, on the Minanter River, and it would be much easier to go over ground, as opposed to following the coast and then upriver from the sea. And they’d be absolutely right. 
> 
> But with Meredith nuts and the loyalty of the Templars (at the time) in question, Hawke and Sebastian felt a travelling by water would be safer than over land. Furthermore, leaving the city by ship meant a quick getaway, removing Elthina from any danger completely. I didn’t extrapolate this in the story since it really didn’t have much importance, but going forward it’s a good idea for readers to know that typically, one would travel between the two major cities in the Marches by land and not sea.
> 
> *I imagined Fenris playing Schumann’s Romance (for oboe w/piano). I tried to find a solo oboe version, but no luck, however, here’s a lovely version with added otters for you to enjoy! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYHnwFoPvks
> 
> *A note on scars - I almost took out the section about Anders scars, not because it isn't important but because I didn't want to 'overuse' the idea. As scarletcougar mentioned, GMTA, but I hadn't realized how often Anders is scarred in Fenders works (outside of my own. LOL) That said, while Fenris is a bit right as to why Anders hides them, he's not completely right. In fact, he's mostly wrong, which will be shown in the following chapter. I chose to leave it in because I wasn't satisfied with the variations I tried- to express the same ideas in another way. Anyway, enough writer rambling...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dab of smut ahead... and fluff... and maybe some 'feels' with angst.

“Apply the salve three times a day. And try to stay out of the sewers. Those spiders are big enough to eat you.”

The young man gave Anders a somber nod. “Yes, healer.”

“Now go on. And remind your mother she needs to come to see me this week. I want to make sure she’s coming along as she should.”

With another nod, the boy left the treatment room and he heard the outer door close. Anders stood and stretched. It had been another long day, but a productive one. He’d started training two of the new Circle mage’s to carry out his duties when he left for Amaranthine and both women were a joy to work with.

Mary and Jenny were older and as well versed as Anders in plants and poultices and herbal medicine, perhaps more so. Refugees from Dairsmuid, the circle in Rivain, the women were accomplished midwives as well and both understood the need to balance practical treatment with magic. There was no need to use magic to heal a small cut when a poultice and bandage would do the same job.

He moved to the small sink to wash his hands, tidying up the space before making his way to the waiting area. The sun had nearly slipped behind the horizon and it was time to put out the lanterns. If he hadn’t forgotten the small satchel he carried, Anders might have missed the item on his desk.

As it was, he groped for the chair when he realized what the little red rectangle was. Hands shaking, he reached for his mother’s pillow, slightly misshapen perhaps, but whole, reformed with hundreds of tiny red-thread x’s marking new seams. His eyes welled, but Anders was simply too overcome to give a shit. He crushed the thing to his face, heart pounding in his chest, joy pouring through him that someone had cared so much, had known just how devastating it had been to lose this one, well-worn cushion… He sobbed for several minutes simply undone by such a profound gift, overflowing with gratitude.

Who, Maker who would have done this? He knew Varric was aware of its worth, but couldn’t possibly imagine the dwarf doing something like this, nor Hawke either, at least not without telling Anders first. But there was no note, no indication of who’d left it. He grabbed his bag, placing the pillow inside it, his gaze landing on one of the books already in it.

He pulled the book out and turned it in his hand. Merrill hadn’t been the only person Fenris had fetched for in those hectic days before the fight at the Gallows. Shortly after returning from the coast, the elf had given him this very bag with all the things he’d managed to gather in the clinic.

What if? Was it even possible? Snippets of conversation, Fenris asking Orana to teach him to sew, Isabela saying he’d taken it up as a hobby. And three nights ago, the elf had taken him home. It explained why he couldn’t find the small square he kept on the nightstand the following morning. He’d frantically searched for it to no avail, but glancing in the bag, he knew why.

Still, it seemed so far-fetched, so unbelievable, but the only way he could know for sure was to ask. Wiping stray moisture from his face, he slung the bag over his shoulder and left the clinic. He wasn’t sure what he’d say to Fenris, how he could possibly thank him for restoring such a precious, priceless legacy, but if the elf had indeed given him back the last, good piece of his past, Anders swore he’d find a way.

* * *

The knocking on the door made Fenris frown and he hissed as he finished dressing the first two fingers and thumb of his right hand. The pounding came again and he sighed as he wrapped tape over the open blisters before leaving the kitchen. Spending the last two days stitching tiny seams had been brutal, but the ache in his neck and shoulders, the wounds on his fingers, were worth it when he had finally held the completed pillow in his hands.

“Fenris, are you home?”

Anders’ voice came from beyond the door and Fenris hesitated. He’d left no note, nothing that would lead the mage to think he’d been responsible. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered simply giving the pillow to Anders. He had. In the end, though, he’d decided he didn’t want the mage to think he’d done it out of pity or to garner some sort of debt, so he’d slipped into the clinic in the afternoon and laid it on the small desk without disturbing Anders.

“Fenris, I can feel your lyrium. Could I come in?”

He lifted a brow. The mage had never said he could sense the brands. He pulled the door open to find Anders leaning on one palm in the jamb. “Do you need something?”

Tone neutral, face blank, he met the mage’s amber eyes and did not look away.

“Uh, well maybe. I wanted to ask – what happened to your hand?”

Anders reached for him, but Fenris stepped back. “It’s nothing. I tried to cook. It did not go well.” The lie came so easy, but the mage frowned. He didn’t seem convinced.

“Let me see, burns are nothing to mess with.” Again, that long fingered hand lifted toward him and Fenris retreated yet another step.

“It is fine.”

Anders advanced into the foyer, shutting the door behind him. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“What have I done now?” Underneath his feigned disinterest, Fenris’ heart was pounding so hard he thought he might faint – something he had never done in his life.

“Maker, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Mage, you are going-” He didn’t get another word out. 

Something flashed in Anders’ face, then he lunged for Fenris, lifted him completely from his feet and spun their bodies, slamming the elf into the wall next to the door. Fenris’ eyes widened a moment before the mage groaned and kissed him.

Kissed him with ferocity bordering on feral. The mage’s mouth was hot, tongue insistent and Fenris opened to him, breath hitching when Anders' hold changed, when he dug his fingers in the elf’s ass and stepped hard into the vee of his legs. Fenris was pulled under, his own hands trying to find purchase, ankles crossing behind Anders' back.

And still, Anders continued to taste him, sliding his tongue against Fenris’, tickling the roof of his mouth, wet lips covering, slipping away, coming back. The mage suckled at his bottom lip, setting teeth to the tender flesh, then moving to his top lip, the tip of Anders' tongue tracing the shape. He coaxed Fenris to follow his lead, grinding their lower bodies together when the elf thrust his own tongue past Anders' teeth. The pressure, the heat, it became too much and Fenris had to pull away, roll his head against the unforgiving stone at his back and moan, nearly undone by the force that was Anders.

The mage didn’t stop though, he merely took advantage, licking along the line of Fenris’ throat, sucking hard at his neck, just below and behind his ear and the elf dug his fingers into Anders’ back, bucking against the man, waves of fire and ice rolling over his skin at the erotic maelstrom the mage whipped up in him. And then Anders moved, drew his lips to the other side of Fenris’ neck and repeated the action. The elf didn’t recognize the sounds coming from his mouth; they rolled unchecked from his throat, raw, loud, almost-pained cries. Fenris tightened his legs, straining to be closer, to feel the long ridge of Anders' cock against his.

The mage seemed to know what he wanted, what Fenris needed though the elf himself did not. Anders shifted, moving one of his hands between their bodies, fingers loosening the ties of his leggings. His mouth came to Fenris’ ear, breath hot and ragged.

“Please, Fenris, please.” A plea, guttural, low, filled with longing and need.

“Anders!”

The mage took the harsh sound of his name as an affirmative and plunged his hand inside the material, hot fist encircling Fenris’ cock in a strong, sure hold.

The elf struggled, the sensation too much and not enough, but Anders only stroked his length and held him more tightly against the wall. His nubile tongue tracing the shell of Fenris’ ear, until the elf was beside himself, hands clawing at the mage’s hair, his shoulders, everywhere as his hips began to move of their own accord, lifting into Anders grip, rolling back, then up once more.

“Maker, I’m going to come just from watching you. Hearing you. Fenris.” Anders took his mouth again, swallowing the almost panicked cries spilling from him.

And Fenris didn’t care, he’d never felt anything… never been so consumed by anything. His entire world was Anders, his mouth, his body, the smell of his skin, the silk of his hair. The knowing fingers that drew unimaginable pleasure along every line of his cock, smearing precome around the head and down the shaft, pausing to rub a thumb under the glans with the perfect pressure, the most flawless touch.

“That’s it, Fenris, let go. I have you.”

His whole body went rigid, lightning flashing behind his lids as he came. He felt Anders hot breath on his neck, cried out when the mage twisted his wrist, using the hot seed as lubricant and continued to move, to squeeze and pull at Fenris’ spasming cock. Then he heard the grunt, felt the hard press of teeth at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and knew Anders had followed him into oblivion.

He had no idea how long they remained that way, bodies shaking, breathing harsh, the mage’s taller body holding Fenris to the wall while the world righted itself. Slowly, Anders released him, hands at Fenris’ waist, steadying. He was grateful, pressing the top of his head to the mage’s chest as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

He didn't get much time. Almost as quickly as Anders had grabbed him, he felt the press of lips against his head and the mage stepped away. “Thank you, Fenris. Thank you.”

Gone. Out the door before Fenris could think to stop him.

* * *

_I should go back. Fuck, what if he thinks… Shit, I am possessed. Possessed by a fucking elf who’s such an apposition of innocent and jaded he practically invites affection and attraction. Damn me. I shouldn’t have left. He’s going to think…_

Anders mind was whirling as he almost ran to the estate. If the evidence of what had happened wasn’t cooling in his smalls, he’d swear he was suffering from a waking dream. Andraste’s tits, he’d had sex that didn’t come close to as good as what he’d just experienced. Truth be told, he’d had very few interactions that could best it. 

But Maker, the way Fenris seemed to abandon himself to sensation. Anders drug a still shaking hand over his face. He was in deep shit here and he was pretty damned sure it was too late to back out. Between the pillow and the uninhibited way Fenris had come apart in his arms, there was no way Anders could leave the thing between them ignored any longer. He had to have Fenris – not just sex, either. He had to have the smiles, the laughter, the way he hesitated to try new food, the unguarded relish he exuded when a taste surprised and pleased him, and everything in between.

Anders stumbled into the Hightown house, glad Orana was nowhere to be seen, and hurried up the steps. He crashed into his room and fell back against the door as the warm, curling tendrils of emotions wound through his heart and outward.

“I think I’m falling in love with him. Oh, Maker, I am such an idiot.”

He tugged the satchel over his head and dropped it in the chair before pulling off his coat and tunic. He needed a bath now. Grinning derisively, he stepped from his boots and pants, swallowing a grunt at how sensitive his body still was. He’d attend the clothing himself, but for now it would wait while he filled the tub and heated the water. Thankfully, the old Amell place had good, dwarven plumbing, and he had fire magic enough to make the water as warm as he wanted.

With a sigh, he sank beneath the surface, resting against the gentle stone slope at his back. He’d only just begun to prune and decided it was time to wash and get out when he heard the bedroom door slam open and shut again.

Fenris stormed into the bathroom, body vibrating with fury. The mage had a moment to appreciate Fenris had changed clothes before the elf lunged for Anders, looming over the man, seething. “Why? Why did you do that?”

 _I knew I shouldn’t have left._ Instead of cowering or deflecting, Anders met his gaze. “Because there was no way I could _not_ do it.”

“I didn’t… didn’t do…” The elf snarled and shoved away. “This is a waste of time.”

Anders quirked a brow and decided in for a copper. He grabbed Fenris’ wrist and pulled, hard, tumbling the fully clad male into the bath, water pouring loudly over the sides. “I didn’t kiss you out of gratefulness, Elf. I didn't lose myself like a randy teenager while you cried out your pleasure because I wanted to thank you. I did it because there was no way in the Void I could do anything else. And I left because I wasn’t exactly certain you’d be of a mind not to beat me to a pulp.”

Fenris struggled in his arms, pushing away to sit more upright, but Anders didn’t let go completely. So many things chased over the elf’s face, the remnants of his anger, a spark of lust, a flash of self-consciousness, the sting of bruised feelings, finally settling on irritation. “I am soaked.”

Anders grinned. “You’ll dry. Though probably faster if you take those wet things off.”

“I do not want more sex.”

The mage didn’t bother to comment, since he knew the words were a lie. “I didn’t say a thing about sex.”

Fenris shifted. “That did.”

Anders chuckled. “I’ll tell you something, elf. He’s rarely quiet when you’re around.”

Fenris didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue when Anders began undoing the small clasps holding his tunic together. It took a little maneuvering, but soon enough the wet leggings were gone as well. He settled the elf in front of him, back to his front, and dipped his hand under the water, heating it again, before bringing his arms around Fenris and pressing his cheek against the side of the elf’s head.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Hmm.” Fenris murmured, the sound neither approval nor denial. 

Anders watched as the elf lifted one hand, hesitating, careful, extending a single finger until it touched the mage’s arm just below the elbow. He drew the digit downward and Anders held himself very still, didn’t comment as Fenris slowly traced his skin. There was little he could do about the twitch of his cock, but otherwise, he did his best to lean back and let the elf do as he liked.

He suspected Fenris hadn’t ever been allowed to touch, or been touched much if at all himself, certainly not after the markings. He remembered the elf saying once that the lyrium-veins hurt all the time, to varying degrees, especially when in contact with magic. With Danarius dead, Anders wondered if that was still the case, but as he gazed at one tattooed finger, then a second, dance over his forearm, he decided not to ask. Not yet.

Fenris shifted against him and the mage loosened his hold, allowing the elf to turn and face him. He watched fingers trace upward, over his bicep, which flexed beneath the almost-ticklish caress, against the curve of his shoulder, following the line of clavicle before sliding into the small crease between his pectorals.

“I can feel the scars.”

Anders closed his eyes. He’s sort of hoped that bit of drunken memory hadn’t been real, but apparently he couldn’t be that lucky. With a sigh he released the tiny bit of mana powering the glamour and watched his body change. The muscles became more pronounced, the stark lines of tendon, sinew, and fibrous strength revealed. It had been a long time since he’d seen his body, since someone else had seen it.

“Why do you make yourself look softer?”

“It’s the easiest way to cover them up. Think of it like the difference between putting on twenty bandages or slipping on a shirt. The shirt covers everything and bandages can peel off.”

Fenris’ head was bent so Anders couldn’t see his face as he moved over one of the brands. “Why do you hide them?”

Anders shifted. He did not want to answer that question.

“Your arguments about abuse would be hard to refute in the face of these.” A warm finger caressed a gently curving whirl just beneath Anders left breast.

“I’m not going to put myself on display to prove a point. If someone is too damn stubborn or too damn bigoted to see what’s in front of their eyes, baring my chest isn’t going to have much effect.”

“Yet you obfuscate them still.”

“I hide them from myself, Fenris.” Anders grabbed his hand, stopping the movement of those lithe fingers. “I don’t want to look at them. They remind me of my own stupidity, of how _weak_ I was, how fucking naïve, alright. I don’t hide them from everyone else. They make me sick. They remind me that being a healer is about the worst fate a mage can suffer because we’re compelled to help those in need. And there are people that will use any advantage to inflict pain and humiliation on others, especially those they revile.”

Fenris looked up at him and Anders turned his face away, closing his eyes. They didn’t speak, though he released the elf, half expecting the other man to leave. Instead, Fenris began to touch him again, away from the brands, teasing over the ridges of his topmost abdominal muscles.

“I’ve never seen magic like that.”

Uncomfortable, but trying very hard to stay relaxed, Anders sighed. “It’s actually a variation on a rogue talent. You know the stealth thing Isabela does? A friend of mine showed me how he did it and I studied him and the ability until I was able to imitate it, I guess, with magic. Otherwise, I’d have to use amulets and runes and those are expensive and easily damaged.”

Fenris didn’t say anything else, just continued to stroke his fingers over Anders body, returning to the marks, but not focusing on them, instead learning each curve and line of muscle, of bone, of the past and the present. He had no idea how long Fenris’ hands moved over him, but eventually all the anxiety faded away, replaced with the insistent throb of arousal. The closer the elf came to his cock, the more this new tension tightened his body. His erection bobbed between them, fully engorged and flushed a deep red, precome having gone from small pearls of desire to a shining, slick ribbon of need.

“I still don’t want sex.”

Anders bit his tongue to stem the words he wanted to say. “Then you might want to stop. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want, Fenris. If you keep touching me like that, though, I’m going to embarrass myself and then I’ll have to draw another bath.” He kept his tone light, hoping to ease the tension.

Fenris huffed, but withdrew his hand. “You interrupted my evening. I was going to the Hanged Man for supper.”

“Norah’s stews aren’t bad, but what if I threw something together instead?” Anders didn’t want the elf to leave. By the Void, he didn’t even want to get out of the water.

Fenris looked at him, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “I would like that.”

Anders chuckled. “Then let’s get to the kitchen.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M/M sex ahead, reader's have been advised :D

“Fenris,” Anders laughed, “step back or you’ll get burned.”

“I cannot see what you’re doing.” He frowned but gave the mage a little more space. 

He wanted to watch, to see what Anders added to the pan, how he flipped the breaded chicken. He knew he’d never be able to repeat it, but the mage was fascinating to observe while he cooked.

“There isn’t much to see right now. Why don’t you strain the tea, if you want to help. Besides, I’m just watching, making sure the breading turns golden brown but doesn’t burn. This, this right here is comfort food. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, dumplings and pan gravy? Guaranteed to make you fat, but totally worth it.”

“You want to be fat?”

Anders laughed. “If I ate like this all the time, I’d need a wheelbarrow to get through the door. Well, maybe not. I can’t remember a single fat Grey Warden. I just mean it’s a heavy, hearty meal but one that shouldn’t be eaten all the time.”

“How much longer, mage? I am starving.”

Anders lifted a brow. “It’s almost done. Make yourself useful, elf, and set the table.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes but moved to do as he was asked. It took him no time, though he drew the chore out a bit and looked at Anders without the mage staring back at him. He thought back to the bath, the angry, harsh words the mage had spoken in regard to his scars. In all his imaginings, he would not have thought Anders would hide them from himself, would have so much self-directed hate. He recalled how often he’d said the mage was weak and how, the fury in Anders’ voice sounded less projected at Fenris and more toward himself.

_”I’ll prove to you I’m not weak.”_

_”Prove it to yourself, mage.”_

At the time, he couldn’t have known, nor would he likely have cared – other than to gloat and dig the barb deeper – how sharply those words undoubtedly cut. He shook his head, partly at the depths of animosity he’d once harbored, but also because something had shifted between them, something more than Anders slamming him into a wall and working them both to a frenzied, wild release.

The mage had been honest, perhaps brutally so, without trying to cover it up with a quip or double entendre. With each piece Anders revealed, from his name to his scars, Fenris was drawn more and more to the man. He’d wanted Anders' form for a very long time, but over the last month, during the long weeks they were apart and even more strongly since his return, he’d begun to hunger for the far more precious- and better protected- hidden places inside the mage.

Anders hummed under his breath, happily poking at the pan with the small blobs of dough in it, and Fenris winced. The mage had not lied, his musical talents were horrific.

“Anders.”

“Hmm.”

“You were right. You cannot sing.”

“I know. You can, though. And dance. And play. Beautifully, all of it.”

Fenris looked down at the table. He was horrible at accepting compliments. 

“There is one thing I can do I bet you can’t.”

Fenris glanced up, thinking he already knew this. “You can do many things I cannot. Healing, _magic_.”

“Hmm, maybe in a traditional sense, but really, it’s quite magical watching you dance. Ah, there’s that lovely blush.” 

Anders chuckled as he lifted a large plate and removed the last of the chicken, placing the breast pieces on top of the already cooked meat. He walked to the table, passing off the platter to Fenris, who set it in the middle of the place settings.

“I mean something more like a hobby. Here, watch.” Anders faced the elf and pulled a sovereign from the ever-present coin pouch. 

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest as the mage rolled the coin over his knuckles one direction, then back, each motion smooth, making the gold piece seem more like water than metal. It would take a great deal of dexterity to accomplish and Fenris lifted a brow, impressed. He continued to watch Anders do this for a few more seconds before the coin completely disappeared.

His brow pinched and he looked at the floor, but he neither heard nor saw the sovereign. “Where is it?”

The mage stepped toward him, lifting a hand toward the side of Fenris’ head. He stepped away and Anders laughed. “Stand still, I’m not going to try anything funny.”

Wary, Fenris held still as the mage reached for his ear. He felt the hair ruffle and then Anders pulled his hand back, gold piece between his first two fingers. “Well look at that, those long ears are good for more than hearing.”

Anders smiled, rolled the coin again, and once more it disappeared. This time, he turned his hand over, empty palm, empty back, and there the sovereign was again, laying against the creases in the mage’s hand.

“That is no magic.”

Laughing, Anders flipped the coin, Fenris watched him do it, but it was gone. The elf looked around as the mage slid around him, passing behind his back and moving toward the stove, when Fenris felt a _thunk_ against his stomach. He tugged at his borrowed tunic and into his hand fell the sovereign.

“How did you do that?” He worried the coin, but it wasn’t tampered with, it was a normal gold piece.

“If I told you, there’d be no wonder.”

Fenris smirked and rubbed his thumb over the coin. It was an interesting trick. It was… fun.

“If you’ll set the potatoes and dumplings on the table, I’ll bring the gravy in a moment.” Anders motioned to two large bowls on the sideboard. “One more thing…” The mage turned to the water pump and filled a large pitcher, then turned it to ice, before pouring the hot tea into the container.

Fenris watched as he added sugar, he thought, then stirred before pouring liquid into two tall cups. The elf took the drinks and placed them on the table, Anders following behind him with the gravy boat. They took their seats and Fenris was happy to let the mage make his plate, watching him place everything, no portion too large or too small.

“Since I doubt you’ve had gravy before, how about if you taste it first.” The mage took his own spoon and dipped into the boat, a small amount coating the end, the held it out to Fenris.

It didn’t look all that appealing, in his opinion, but he opened his mouth anyway. And found the look of it mattered little, for the hearty, flavorful topping was delicious. “It’s good.”

Anders pulled back and stuck the spoon in his own mouth. “Mmm, damn right it is. Do you want it on everything? Just the potatoes?”

“Everything.”

Anders laughed but complied, splashing the thick concoction over everything, again not too much, just enough. Even on the dumplings when Fenris pointed at the bare dough balls. “That too.”

The mage was more generous with gravy on his potatoes, but left the dumplings plain. With a smile, he motioned for Fenris to eat. “Maker, go on. You’re practically beside yourself. Why do you wait?”

Fenris cut a piece off the chicken. “It is impolite to begin before all guests are ready to eat.”

Anders shook his head and chuckled, then picked up the thigh he chose for himself with his fingers. “Then I’m about to shock your delicate sensibilities all over the place. Eating with my fingers, for shame!”

Fenris smiled, he felt it, a warm, broad grin. “I’m used to it, _barbarian_.”

That made the mage cough as laughter bubbled out of him, but Anders was too focused on the food to reply. After two bites, Fenris was as well. The meat was tender, but the breading, the gravy, the potatoes, everything… he heard himself moan but was so engrossed with his meal he couldn’t work up any embarrassment. 

It was a bit greasy, a lot heavy, and Fenris couldn’t get enough. He ate two more pieces of chicken and three more helpings of potatoes, and of course gravy. The dumplings, plain though they were, were good as well, but nowhere near as tasty as the rest – even with gravy. He’d never had potatoes so creamy, with just a touch of salt, and buttery too. 

But the icing on the cake was the iced tea. The taste of it stirred a memory of hot nights in a jungle, his mother making him a drink very similar to cool off. The blend of the tea was Seheron in nature, and the smell of it prodded at a place deep in his mind. He loved it.

“Maker, I think your appetite could rival mine!” Anders pushed his plate back and sighed loudly, rubbing one hand over his belly.

“I am over full, but it was worth it.” Fenris drank the rest of his tea and rose to refill his glass. “I could eat your cooking all the time.”

“Speaking of.” Anders snagged his bandaged hand.

Fenris felt the tingle of magic and watched the mage unwrap his fingers and thumb. Ander caressed the healed skin, then brought them to his lips, pressing soft kisses against the tips. Fenris shivered at the gentle caress. He didn’t know what to say so he simply stood there.

Anders let him go and cleared his throat. “If you intend to keep sewing, we should get you thimbles. They protect the fingers from that kind of thing.”

Fenris retreated behind his cup as the mage began clearing the table. He hesitated for a few minutes, then lent a hand, and soon enough the dishes were washed and replaced, all evidence of the meal gone, save for the pitcher of tea.

“I should-“

“Would you-“

They spoke at the same time, both smiling before Fenris motioned for Anders to finish.

“Do you- I mean, would you want- Maker, why is this so awkward?” The mage laughed at himself then took a deep breath and looked directly into Fenris’ eyes. “Do you want to stay? The night, I mean. With me.”

Fenris put his cup down, spreading his hands over the sideboard. He’d been about to say he should leave. But looking at Anders, he knew he wasn’t going to.

“Do you have any expectations?” His heart thumped, the words very frank for Fenris to speak.

“Hopes, maybe, but no. I don’t expect anything. I just, shit, I- I’d like for you to stay. It’s alright if you aren’t comfortable. I understand. This,” his hand flashed between them. “We, or us, or I don’t know it’s… it’s strange and a little crazy and if this is too fast, too much… Fuck, Fenris, I’m dying here. Help a guy out?”

His mouth lifted. The mage was flustered; it was a moment to savor. “I will stay. Anything more I will not promise.”

“Okay. Great. Hmm, well… Have you been practicing your reading?”

Fenris’ grin turned to a frown. He had not, in several months. Though Garrett was patient, his own frustrations frequently caused him to put the books aside after very little time. “No. I think I am too old. It is too hard.”

“Bullshit. I’ve taught a woman old enough to be great-great-grandmother her letters. You’re a smart man, Fenris. You just need a little faith… and some patience, I wager. Come on, I bet there are some primers in the library.”

Skeptical, but willing to try anyway, he followed the mage to the library, showing Anders the books Hawke had used.

“Those are good, but I’m looking for something – Ah, yes, here.” The mage pulled three slim bound books from a shelf and brought them in front of the fire.

Fenris sat next to him, accepting the first as Anders shifted to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. “Why are these so special?”

“They’re for children. Mostly pictures with very few, very easy words. The books Hawke used, well, he probably thought you’d be offended by children’s books.”

Fenris growled. “He was right.”

Ander nudged him. “I don’t care if you feel insulted or not. All I care about is getting you to read. And that means starting at the beginning, not in the middle. You said you can’t tell all the letters apart.”

“That is correct.”

“Alright, well, this book is all about the letters. So let’s get started.”

Fenris opened the cover and turned the pages until he came to one with a large case A in bold, oversized print, partnered with a lower case a as well. But what took up most of the page was a bright red, apple with a smiling faced worm popping out of a hole in its side.

“This is an A. And that’s an apple.”

“Exactly. Each picture on each page corresponds to the letter. So now you know that ‘apple’ starts with the letter a. If you want, I can find a quill and write the words for the pictures on the pages as well. Then you’ll become familiar with what they look like and be able to recognize them when you see them. Most people don’t read the letters in a word, they read the word itself, like a picture.”

“That makes no sense.” Fenris turned the page. “B and a book.”

“It’ll make sense as you get better. And try reading them like ‘B is for book’.”

Fenris grumbled under his breath, but did as Anders asked, shifting his gaze from the b page to the c. “C is for cat.”

“I miss my cat.” Anders gave a blue sigh.

Fenris shook his head. The mage had an unhealthy attraction to cats. He turned the page. “D is for Mabari.”

Anders grinned. “D is for dog. Though yes, that is a Mabari.”

“I know what it is, that’s why I said it. Why would they try to confuse me like that?”

That made the mage laugh. “They aren’t trying to confuse the readers. Remember, this is for young children. Most of them know ‘dog’ not specific types.”

“Bah, surely there are children smart enough to one dog from another.”

“Come on, keep going.”

“E is for elephant. This I am familiar with.”

“Really? You’ve seen one up close?”

Fenris nodded. “They are war animals in the Imperium. Their tusks,” he pointed to the elongated, white projections in the picture, “are often capped with gold. They are massive and very strong, but also intelligent. I find their gate soothing, but most magisters ride them in a large _howdah_ , a kind of canopied carriage that sits on the back of the animal.”

“They look terrifying.” Anders gave a little shudder.

“To look up and see dozens of them advancing on the horizon, yes, I would imagine so. But for the most part, they are gentle. And matriarchal.”

“That’s absolutely fascinating, Fenris. You’ve seen some amazing things.”

“As have you.” He looked up from the book.

Anders shrugged. “Talking darkspawn aren’t what I’d call amazing. Although watching Hawke beat the Arishok in single-combat _was_ bloody brilliant,” he grinned, “but you saw that too. Alright, what’s the next letter?”

“F.” The elf turned the page. “F is for fire.”

“Or flames. Or Fenris.”

He grinned at that and continued onward.

Fenris finished the letter book and moved onto another, that one with shapes and colors and numbers, after which Anders had him practice his letters while he read aloud from a book about the Black Fox. Sleep tugged at the edges of his mind. 

“I am getting tired.”

Anders looked up from the book, turning the corner of one page down, before shutting the cover. “Okay.”

They cleared away the writing utensils and practice parchments and slowly walked the stairs together. Once inside Anders’ room, the mage moved toward the bathing area. Fenris tugged at his tunic, and decided to leave it on. It smelled like the other man and it was… comfortable.

“I would prefer to sleep on the outside of the bed.”

Anders stepped from the bathroom, carrying Fenris’ dried clothes with him. He’d changed into sleeping pants as well. “Alright. It doesn’t matter to me, either way. Though I suppose I thought you’d rather sleep to the wall, you know, no one can sneak up on you that way.”

“I do not enjoy feeling boxed in.”

* * *

 _Of course. I don’t either._ Anders nodded and handed Fenris his clothes. The elf took them and folded them neatly before setting them the chair. The mage had to hide a grin, since it seemed Fenris chose to sleep in his tunic, oversized and slipping from one shoulder on his slighter build. Not that the elf was delicate or effeminate, not by any stretch of the imagination. No, as Anders well knew Fenris was whipcord lean, his body lissome and compactly muscled, every line strong, precise, powerful. But as an elf, he was less broad and less thick than the taller, Anderfels-hearty born mage. 

The fire banked, Anders climbed into the bed first and moved across it until he was almost pressed to the wall. Fenris followed, though the elf settled far enough away that they weren’t touching. They lay that way for a while, a sort of odd comfort stretching between them. But Fenris being so close roused his body and Anders sighed before rolling on his side to face the elf. He tucked the pillow beneath his chest and neck, shifting until he was mostly on his stomach, and rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand.

“You are staring, mage.”

“I can’t help it, elf. I’ve been doing it for years.”

Fenris turned his head to look at Anders. “Staring at me?” Incredulous at the idea, by the sound of his lovely voice.

Anders nodded. “When you’re sleeping. Sometimes when you were awake, but not often.”

“Why?”

“Are you serious? You’re bloody gorgeous.” He waggled his brows.

Fenris was not amused. “My appearance intimidates.”

Anders grinned. “It does at that. Doesn’t change the fact you’re stunning.”

“So you watched me sleep because I am pretty?”

“Nope. I watched you sleep because you’re fascinating. When you sleep, there’s no frown, no wrinkling of the skin between your brows. I’ve told you, you’re a puzzle of conundrums. In sleep, you look younger, peaceful, and I used to wonder what happened to you, in those moments between waking and sleeping, that shuttered the softness away and brought forth disdain and irritation and contempt.”

The familiar pinch of his forehead shifted jet black eyebrows over his dark eyes. “You are a very strange mage.”

“And you a very peculiar elf. I don’t mind.”

The stared at each other for a while and then Fenris shifted as well, though he stayed on his side, propping his head on his palm. “Did you really believe the Imperium was better than the Circle?”

Anders’ eyes widened a bit at that. It certainly wasn’t a question he expected Fenris to ask. “No… and yes. I know that every mage isn’t a magister and that many use forbidden magic. That isn’t a solution, either. But at least mages aren’t chained up, dragged away from their families as children, and taught they are an evil that must be watched always for signs of corruption. Personally, I think it’s a bit bullshit that before everything went crazy here, the only two options mages had were blood magic in Tevinter or being used as weapons by the rest of Thedas. Or running for your life, knowing if you were caught it was likely death or the brand.”

“Do you think this ‘open’ Circle will work?”

“I don’t know, Fenris. But so far, it seems to be. Cullen and his Templars are protecting the mages, children are with their families as much as possible, no one is locked up. Mages that want freedom have it and those who are terrified to be outside the Circle have that as well. It isn’t perfect, I don’t like the fact that the mages have to live in the Circle, even the children, but it’s a compromise.”

“There have been no dark magic incidents since the changes.”

“No, there haven’t. And I’d say that’s the best evidence for it working.”

Fenris looked at him for a few minutes. “You would be _Laetens_ in the Imperium. Well, perhaps _Altus_ by virtue of your healing, though unlikely. That class is reserved for the greatest of the ancient magus lines, usually.”

“What does that mean?”

“Other than slaves, there are three classes in Tevinter. The _Soporati_ are the lowest class. I do not mean they are poor, though often that is the case, but that is the class all non-mages fall into. They have no power in government and can only hope to have a mage-born child. Doing so would elevate them to _Laetens_ , where they would gain prestige, privilege, and an opportunity to have some influence in the Imperium.”

“Like I said, Tevinter has its attractions, but it isn’t better than the Andrastian Chantry. The idea of being free in the Imperium is nice, but it’s just that, an idea. In practice, I’ve no doubt I’d find myself locked up one way or another, since healers are so rare, especially spirit healers. I’ve had enough of cells and bars and shackles.”

Fenris nodded. “Hawke said you would be accompanying me to Amaranthine.”

“Yes.”

“Will you return with me?”

Something about the elf’s question made him look hard into those green eyes. “I don’t plan to stay and Neria knows that. So unless you have to rush back to Kirkwall, then yes, I’ll be coming back with you.”

If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he might have missed the flash of relief on Fenris’ face. “I will stay as long as you need.”

What a careful selection of words, but they made Anders feel… important. And supported, as if what Fenris was truly saying was he would be there with Anders, no matter what. He smiled then turned his head to the side and wiggled until he was comfortable. “Thanks, Fenris.”

“Good night… Anders.”

* * *

He shifted, the sensation building between his legs becoming almost painful. Sleep clawed at him, trying to keep him under, but Anders moaned and fought to wake. He felt his heart pounding, air coming fast in and out of his lungs; he was on fire, the precipice so close… Opening his eyes, he lifted his head from the pillow and nearly went right then.

“Fenris!” By Andraste, he was dying and glad of it.

“I couldn’t help myself.” The elf’s wonderful baritone dipped lower with desire as his hand continued a slow, controlled up and down motion along the length of Anders’ rampant erection.

Anders thrust his hips and dug his fingers into the mattress, clutching at the bed sheets. Just a little harder, a little faster, and he’d come. “Ah, I'm close.”

The elf chuckled, the sound as effective as any caress, and Anders shuddered.

“I spent a great deal of time stroking you. I am not inclined to rush. But now that you are awake, there is something I want.”

Fenris was in perfect control, of the situation, and of Anders and the mage found it incredibly erotic. “What? Anything, just please.” He moaned again, tearing at the sheets when the elf twisted his wrist and those talented fingers swirled around the head of his cock.

“Spread your legs wider.”

 _Oh, shit, oh, shit_ He felt his balls draw up, felt the dark sting of completion flare in his lower back. Just the thought of Fenris doing anything between his legs and –

“Ah! Fuck, Fenris!” Ander whole body came up off the bed and suddenly the elf was on his stomach, tunic-covered ass settling against abdominals, the weight of his body holding the mage down.

“I am not ready for you to finish.”

“Where did- you,” Anders took several harsh breaths, his body like a livewire, “learn to do that?”

The elf held the base of his cock the tight ring of thumb and forefinger of one hand, squeezing very hard, while the other mirrored the motion around the top his scrotum, the sack pulled away from Anders' body, testicles pressed and held below the firm band of Fenris fingers.

“This is not the first time I have done this. It is the first time I have wanted to. Are you calm?”

Anders gave a pained laugh. “No, but I’m not going to come either.”

He heard the smirk he couldn’t see on Fenris’ face. “Good. Hand me the salve.”

The elf shifted off the mage, retaking his position between Anders’ thighs. It took some effort to coordinate himself, but he managed to grab the salve and pass it to Fenris who had resumed his careful manipulation of Anders swollen, throbbing prick.

“Hold your cock as I am.”

“Fenris.” Anders voice shook.

“Do it. Just your thumb and forefinger.” 

Anders lifted one hand to comply, gritting his teeth as he took himself in hand.

“Tighter. Good. Spread your legs.”

He might have suspected the elf, when he finally made a move, would feel more comfortable in a clearly dominant position, but Maker, the way the commands slid off Fenris’ tongue, the dark promise every word carried were driving him wild. He whole body thrummed with anticipation, blood hot, cock slick with precome. He’d never been particularly submissive, outside of playful fun, but he had a strong desire to experience it more realistically, with the elf.

And to see Fenris reciprocate.

He groaned at the very thought, images of earlier in the evening dancing behind his lids. Fenris abandoned to passion, tearing at him, crying out as he shot come all over Anders’ hand, filled his mind. _Better stop that._ He squeezed harder, needing to know what the elf did next, wanting to hold off just to find out how far Fenris would, could, take him.

The elf didn’t release his hold on Anders’ balls, instead pulling them to the side and up, out of his way. “Bring your knees up. Cant your hips. Mmm, very good.”

Maker, the approval in Fenris’ voice… Anders moaned at the first press of a finger against his backside. It had been _so_ long since he’d had anyone inside his body. He whimpered, the sound needy, wanting. He felt his body tighten, forced himself to relax, and gasped as muscle gave way and accepted the intrusion. He gasped, tightening around that slim fingers, hips rolling just a bit, seeking a deeper touch.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, no, Maker, no.”

With careful intent, the elf learned him, the finger flexing slightly, pressing forward, slipping back until Anders rose to meet each motion. Seemingly satisfied, Fenris added a second finger and slowly scissored the two digits, up and down, then side to side, before curling the tips and pressing deep.

“Fenris! Yes!”

The elf had found it. His prostate, a tiny organ that when stimulated guaranteed a kind of intensity little else could come close to and Fenris worked it like a maestro. First he rubbed, gently, then circled the small, firm spot, then he pressed against it, before withdrawing, teasing the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of Anders body. When the mage was on the verge of begging, Fenris would thrust deep and repeat the process.

Despite the death grip he had on his cock, precome flowed from its tip. Fenris kept up the pressure on his balls, tugging at his scrotum, bringing Anders away from the edge, only to drive him back toward it with relentless, exacting movements.

“Fenris, Fenris, please, Maker, please!” His free hand twisted so hard in the bed clothes Anders heard them rend, but he only dug deeper, seeking an anchor in the sensual onslaught roaring through his body.

“Cup behind your knees. Hold yourself open to me.”

He let go of his cock and frantically grabbed for the backs of his thighs, pulling his legs back and farther apart. 

“Look at me, Anders.”

He turned his face and opened his eyes, breath catching at the sight the elf made. He’d removed the tunic, body limned in moonlight, lyrium glinting in the silvery light. It was too shadowed for Anders to clearly make out Fenris’ eyes, or the definition of his body, but the elf was magnificent regardless.

The elf shifted closer, that one hand still cradling his testicles and Anders hummed loudly at the press of cock against his ass. Fenris took his time, pushing home slowly but steadily, and they both groaned with the thick circumference of the head slipped past the firm muscle guarding Anders body.

“Fuck, you’re bigger than I thought you’d be.” He squirmed a bit, pushing slightly against the intrusion, helping Fenris slide deeper.

“Hmm, I am large, especially for an elf. Thicker than you, though not quite as long.” Fenris placed his free hand on Anders belly and pushed forward with his hips, hard, seating himself fully inside the mage.

“Shit, shit.” Anders panted, Maker, he was so full, every vein, every inch of Fenris’ cock rubbing against all the good things inside him. 

“Anders.”

“Fenris.” He tightened around the amazingly hot, hard cock in his ass and dug his fingers into his legs.

“I am going to fuck you now. Hard. Do not come. If you wait, I will reward you.” The elf finally released his balls, sliding both hands to take firm hold of Anders hips, jerking his lower body closer.

Anders bit his lip. Fuck, the elf could take him to orgasm just talking like that. Every inflection a command, each word precise, firm, demanding obedience. “Yes, Fenris.”

His partner moaned and withdrew slowly, returning more forcefully but with perfect control. Retreat, advance, Fenris did this several times, each repeat coming slightly quicker than the one before, until Anders was shaking hard, trying to keep himself from coming and screaming at the elf to finish him.

Fenris hissed and one of his hands left Anders hip, gliding upward, over taut stomach muscles and strained pectorals to curl around the mage’s neck. Strong fingers sank into the hair there, tightening into a fist a moment before Anders felt the sharp edge of teeth around his nipple.

“Fenris!” He bucked beneath the elf, wanting to let go of his legs and wrap his whole body around the other man, but wanting, needing, Fenris to end this on his terms more.

“Yes.” The word was a caress and a declaration and he pulled Anders hair and released all that tightly coiled control.

Anders could not describe what it felt like, to have an unleashed Fenris pounding, slamming, hammering into his slick, open body. Overwhelming, unrelenting, inescapable and those barely scored the surface. Pleasure ripped through him, pain teasing the edges, making every stroke sharper, more powerful, more satisfying and still not enough.

“More, damn you! Fuck!”

Fenris grunted and changed the angle of his thrusts, each one dragging the huge cockhead over Anders' prostate and he moaned, then cried out, the sound sharp before cracking. Words began to pour from his mouth, but he had no idea what he was saying, the sounds of his breathing like a bellows, his whole body trembling on the verge of madness.

And then Fenris was there, his mouth close to Anders’ ear, the elf’s breath scalding and ragged, low growling rumbles dancing over the sensitive skin of the mage’s neck. “Anders. You can come now.”

Fenris lit his brands. 

Anders screamed. He didn’t bellow, he didn’t moan. He screamed and disintegrated, flying into a million pieces of ecstasy so exquisite it fucking hurt, badly. His cock felt like it exploded, the first rush of seed bursting from him with enough force he felt the warmth of it on his face. And he didn’t care.

Fenris grabbed his arms, pinning his wrists to the bed and rode every twist, every writhe, every hard jerk of his hips, cock buried deep, his own orgasm filling Anders with hot, liquid relief. The mage locked his legs around the elf as his release kept going, making his body clench, his prick jerk against the press of Fenris’ stomach.

When he finally stopped arching into the elf, when his heels stopped pressing for more purchase, when the last rush of culmination drained away, Anders lay quiescent, unable to move, unable to think, barely sensate enough to realize his throat was sore, his lips numb, and every inch of his skin tingled, buzzed, as if the circulation had been cut off just enough to make his nerves dance without putting anything to sleep. 

Fenris shifted above him, but didn’t pull away. A warm palm smoothed the hair from his face. “Are you alright?”

Anders tried to laugh and it made an echo of orgasm race over him, drawing a whimper from him and a groan from Fenris. “I am fucking destroyed.”

“Is that good?”

“Good doesn’t even come close. I’m ruined, elf.”

Soft lips pressed against his and Anders kissed Fenris back as well as he could before dropping his head to the pillow and exhaling loudly. The elf moved again, but only enough to pull a sheet over their heated bodies. Then he laid down, head pressed to the middle of Anders’ chest, arms hugged close to the mage’s ribs.

“As am I, mage.”


	14. Chapter 14

Anders wasn’t surprised to wake alone. He was disappointed, but not surprised. Rolling to his side, he groaned. Damn, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly taken. And holy Maker, when Fenris had lit up, he’d never felt anything like it. The reaction had to be mage specific, magic and lyrium mixing to cause an exponentially larger orgasm, but shit, if Fenris did that every time they were in bed, he might not survive. Shifting, he winced. His ass was a bit sore, though, and with a satisfied grin he did a bit of self-healing. 

The sun wasn’t too long up, and even though he’d prefer to sleep a bit longer, Anders decided it was probably a good idea to get up and bathed and to the clinic. Mary and Jenny would be in after ninth bell and he planned to put them to work making potions. It would be much easier for the women to handle patients if they were over-stocked before he left for Amaranthine. That way they wouldn’t need to handle both parts of clinic business.

He’d just finished drying off when he heard the outer door. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped from the bathing chamber and into the bedroom. Orana was setting a tray on his dresser as he approached.

“Good morning, Orana.”

She spun around and a soft blush rushed to her face. “Good morning, Anders.”

He chuckled. “Uh, I guess you heard, then.”

The slight woman blushed harder. “I think all of Hightown heard.”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She ducked her head. “It’s alright. I saw Messere Fenris leave this morning, early. I hope that doesn’t mean something poor happened.”

Anders picked up a piece of toast and bit into it before answering. “I honestly don’t know. But I hope the same thing. Maybe with both of us hoping, we’ll end up being right.”

“That would be nice. Messere Fenris always seems so sad or stern. And alone. But he is good. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Anders hummed thoughtfully. “There was a time I would have argued that, Orana. But not now. Will you be into the clinic this afternoon?”

She nodded. “I promised Merrill I would come to the Keep this morning. She gets lonely.”

Anders pressed his hand to Orana’s arm. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Her cheeks colored again. “I try.”

“You _do_. Alright, out so I can stuff my face with your delicious quiche and get dressed.” He teased her, happy when she giggled softly and left.

He entered the clinic an hour or so later and began to ready for patients and training, but his mind was only half on his tasks. Not that he was surprised, it had been a very long time since he’d had sex with anyone but himself, let alone a quietly dominant and powerful male. But it wasn’t the fucking, well of course that was a part of his thoughts (he hadn’t been lying, he was ruined for other lovers – male or female), but the aftermath. Fenris had hugged his body close, laid atop Anders instead of moving away or even shifting to the side and curling against him.

The elf who had taken absolute command of their intimacy, afterward, had wordlessly, perhaps instinctively, sought comfort. In fact, it wasn’t until Anders had wrapped his arms around Fenris, holding him almost painfully close to his chest, smoothing one hand over the hard expanse of sleekly muscled back that the elf had totally relaxed and given in to sleep.

And he’d held him for a very long time, long past the point when his arms started to ache and his hips twitched to shift. He’d eventually rolled to the side, tucking Fenris close, the downy white hair tickling beneath his chin, and gone to sleep himself. Even then, something the elf had said nagged at him, continued to nag at him in the early morning of the day after. About having done ‘that’ before, but never having wanted to, and it made Anders hurt to think of Fenris being violated in the most depraved and vile way a body could be. 

Last night had proven, beyond any latent reservations, that Anders was emotionally vested in the elf, that despite all the reasons he shouldn’t want something with Fenris, he did and he was willing to find a way to make it work, if it could at all. What worried him was that Fenris might have realized the same thing, that whatever was between them was greater than attraction, but for the elf, instead of seeking to be closer, the revelations might only serve to make him pull farther away.

* * *

Fenris stared into the empty fireplace and struggled to sort through his disordered thoughts. _What have I done?_

The frustrating part was he had no idea, beyond trying – and failing – to sate the persistent ache in his body, in his blood, for the damnable mage. When he’d agreed to stay, he’d meant what he said. His cock disagreed, but his mind did not want to engage in sexual congress. He’d still been reeling from the way he and the mage had frantically, crazily come together in his foyer. The way he had been utterly lost to sensation, pushed too far, completely out of control, breaking apart. And then he’d awoke, laying close to the larger human, the warmth from Anders’ skin beckoning and he’d been drawn nearer, hand outstretched to touch the pale flesh, to run hesitantly over the crisp, curling red-gold hair that dusted faintly over the man’s chest. He’d followed the patch of fur, been fascinated as it narrowed and grew thicker, terminating in a dense mass at the base of Anders’ semi-hard prick.

Curiosity, something Fenris was sure had been beaten out of him in Tevinter, rose up like a greedy child. He’d found himself sitting next to the sleeping mage tracing scars, thinking fleetingly that since he’d asked about them Anders no longer tried to cover them. He’d gently tested the strength of resting muscle, carefully sifting his fingers through the silken strands on Anders’ head, and found himself intrigued by the different textures of each type of hair. 

What grew from his scalp was thick and lush, the stubble along his jaw rough, abrasive. The hair on his body too was strange, that which he hid beneath clothes was coarse, wiry, though not as harsh as the growth on his face, but the hair on Anders arms was as soft as his sun-red locks.

His inquisitiveness grew and he left the hair behind as he learned the places that made Anders cock stir and fill, that made the mage shift against the bedding. He had no idea how long he’d spent, touching and caressing, pulling back any time he thought Anders might be rousing, waiting until the man settled back into deep, even sleep before resuming his exploration until finally, the only thing left to learn with the press of skin was the long, pulsing organ between Anders’ legs.

When he’d reached for it, memories rushed through his mind, of months spent doing exactly this, to a magister that had angered Danarius, to a slave whose punishment required debasement and humiliation. When he’d told Anders’ his ex-master hadn’t taught him anything that couldn’t be used to his advantage, he had been honest. And those skills included the abilities of a courtesan. That Danarius had never used him thusly, or allowed him to be used by others, was moot. The magister refused to take the chance that Fenris would be dangerously harmed or damaged by allowing the elf to be sexually abused, but that hadn’t stopped him from making Fenris act as the abuser.

He had pulled away from Anders then, as shame rolled through him. His dishonor grew from two gnarled roots. The first that he’d never felt anything while he had tortured others by turning their bodies against them, had never once been bothered by their pleas, by their cries. The second was more twisted, darker, and rose inside him from deep within the pool of poisonous hate he’d actively cultivated for nearly the entire time he’d been free. When he followed his master’s orders, executed them well, he would be rewarded afterward, praised for his exceptional skill and his loyalty. He’d lived for that, for the approval and affection heaped on him when he pleased Master. 

It was only after… after Seheron, after the Fog Warriors, after the slaughter that Fenris had begun to reflect on the things he’d done and realized how depraved he’d become as Danarius’ ‘little wolf’. Not of his own volition, as he took no satisfaction in the act of killing, or of degradation, but he had found joy in becoming everything Danarius wanted in his prized slave. And that was something Fenris found extremely hard to overcome.

Anders body had calmed with his lack of attention and Fenris nearly left then, overwhelmed with the conflicting needs inside. But as he watched the mage sleep, his desire to touch, to push the mage as Anders had pushed him earlier, grew. And he realized the need didn’t stem from something dark, but something altogether the opposite. Fenris wanted to make Anders come apart for him, wanted to see pleasure contort the handsome face as they moved together toward the edge. 

The elf wanted to finally know what it was like to empty himself in the body of another, something that had always been forbidden, and know the person with him wanted it just as badly. Not because they were being punished and would do anything to stop it, but because Anders wanted Fenris of his own choice as much as the elf craved the mage.

His choice, no one else’s, Fenris deciding to share what he knew for mutual pleasure and no other reason, and so he’d taken Anders’ cock in his hand again and began to seduce the sleeping man, slowly, carefully, his own ardor growing as he stroked that flesh, leaning over to gently lick away the first few drops of heightened need, taking Anders body from rest to alert, reveling in the sounds the mage made, in the way –even in sleep- he knew whose hands touched him, whispering Fenris’ name in a way that suggested warm emotions and affection without artifice.

And when their passion was spent, Anders held him as if he never wanted to let go. He’d unconsciously given Fenris exactly what he needed to ease the chaos, to make him believe he was worth the compassion, the comfort, to remind him Anders wasn’t Danarius, that he offered his touch, his approval because he wanted to, not because he meant to control or manipulate. Fenris had felt protected, had gone to sleep with the low thump of the man’s heart beneath his ear and it had been the most peaceful sleep he could recall.

The elf cursed his thoughts, his insecurities, this unwanted neediness growing with every moment he spent in Anders presence. He rose from the chair and began to pace. The mage had been right. The sex they shared was… Fenris didn’t have a word to describe it. And he wanted more, more of it, more often, at the moment he wanted to be naked and wrapped around the mage or even, though it frightened him, to give himself up to Anders – every moment of the day and night. Part of the reason he’d locked himself in the mansion was because he was sure if he left it, he’d seek out Anders and beg the man to do exactly that. He was agitated, wound tightly, anxious, almost desperate just to see the mage and they’d only been parted for mere hours.

The act of leaving in the pre-dawn morning had taken immense will power, as every step away from the bed he’d shared with mage was like walking through a muddied quagmire. Thrusting his hands through his hair, he growled at himself. _What have I done?_ Anders was right, it was too much, too fast, he couldn’t… He didn’t know…

“ _Vishante kaffar!_ ” For a second, he longed for the disrepair of the mansion, for a wine bottle to sling at the wall, _something_ that would allow him to release some of the disorder inside, to bring back some control. But there was nothing but the empty expanse of his home echoing back his thoughts, mirroring the expanding chasm in his spirit the longer he remained apart from Anders.


	15. Chapter 15

The afternoon passed in a blur. Orana had come and gone and Anders was more than pleased at how well the ex-slave got along with, and seemed to trust, both Mary and Jenny. In fact, all three women clicked like old friends and every day the shy elf emerged more and more from her shell. It was lovely to watch and Anders drew comfort in the knowledge that the two mages would protect Orana while he was away.

He corked a vial and set it aside, letting his mind wander as he carefully mixed lyrium potion in a medium sized bowl. A thought occurred to Anders and he wondered if Mary or Jenny might have some insight to share, so he turned in his seat and addressed them.

“Ladies, I have a question for you. It’s a bit indelicate, so I’ll understand if you’d rather not answer.” He gave them one of his charming smiles and was pleased when they both grinned.

“If you want to know if we can make love potions, Anders, I shall be forced to put rashvine in your bed.” Mary, the older of the two wagged a finger at him.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “No, no. I’d never be that foolish. Maker, do you know how many times I’ve been asked that?”

“Likely less often than we have. Damn Seers, or rather the false ones and their snake oil trinkets.” Jenny frowned as she corked a vial of healing potion.

“Here’s my question, rather an observation. I know mages occasionally use lyrium as an aphrodisiac. Careful application of the potion to certain, shall we say sensitive, body parts can produce a delightful enhancement of carnal interactions.”

Mary nodded. “Of course. Doesn’t work as well on the mundane, but I’ve heard it does affect them as well.”

Jenny hummed her agreement. “They have to be careful though. I’ve treated more than one for poisoning because they don’t know how to properly use lyrium.”

“Right, so if say a person had raw lyrium burned in to their flesh…”

Both women tittered loudly. “Aye, I’d bet gold sovereigns if that elf lit himself up it’d be spectacular. Especially, uh, inside, if you know what I mean. The magic in every cell of a mage would stand up and rejoice.”

Anders grinned. That was about the best description he’d thought of all day to define how he’d felt when Fenris activated his brands.

“Good to know. Actually, that leads me to another question. I’ve wondered, for a while, how it is that Fenris managed to survive that ritual. I mean, even a dwarf would be hard pressed to stay alive and sane with all that ore buried in their flesh. Not long ago, we found out he has a sister that’s a mage.”

“Is that right?” Jenny leaned onto her little workbench, fully engaged in the conversation while Mary busied herself sorting bandages.

Anders nodded. “Which of course begs the question: is Fenris a mage as well? Is his magic somehow bound up in the brands? Or does he have latent talent that then feeds into the lyrium?”

“There’s one way for sure to find out.”

“What?”

“Have him smote.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s been on the receiving end and it’s had no effect.”

Mary looked up. “Then he has latent talent, but isn’t full mage-born. In which case, I’d guess that whatever innate and undeveloped power he has is interlaced firmly with those brands, the magical essence feeding the ore’s power. But Anders, pretty sure isn’t sure. Find out.”

“Why?”

“I’ve heard stories about the lyrium-ghost. If he’s actually a mage, and with his blood-mage using magister dead, there may be changes to his abilities.”

“Nothing’s happened yet. It’s been more than a month. I’d think something would have it that were the case.”

This drew a disapproving frown from the older woman. “Weren’t you a late bloomer, boy? If he’s a mage, my guess is his magister subverted the magic into the brands, or maybe even bespelled the elf to keep his talent trapped. Since the uprising, has Fenris used them?”

_He did last night._ Anders bit his lip to hide his smile, then thought seriously about her question. “I don’t suppose he’s had much reason to.”

“I agree with Mary. The elf has to have magic of some kind because you’re right, Anders, there’s no way he would have survived. At the very least he has a smattering of healing power since that would have kept him alive and stopped him from dying of lyrium poisoning while that bastard magister had it poured into his skin.”

Anders agreed. “I thought the same. I suppose it won’t hurt to ask him if he’s ever felt the sting of a smiting. If he hasn’t, I could probably get Cullen to hit him with one. In the interest of knowledge, if nothing else.”

All three of them chuckled softly at that and finished up for the day.

He left the clinic and considered heading to the Hanged Man, then thought better of it. He hadn’t seen or heard from Fenris all day and he suspected his impressions from the morning were likely accurate and he really didn’t think he had it in him to pretend levity when he felt rather not. Sighing at himself more than anything, he made his way into Hightown. He stopped at Jean-Luc’s just to see if the man had anything new before making his way to the estate. Once inside, he was greeted by Ralph bouncing and barking exuberantly.

“Well, hello, you. I swear, I never thought I’d be partial to a dog, slobbering needy beasts you are, but you certainly wormed you way in, didn’t you?” He gave the massive canine several affectionate rubs before leaving the sitting room, headed for the kitchen.

“Hello, Anders. Hawke came to pick up a few things from the library.”

“Merrill, how are you?”

“A bit lonely, though the gardens are very nice and Orana comes to visit often.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look a bit, hmm, I’m not sure.”

Suddenly the tiny Dalish woman collapsed into tears and Anders rushed to her side. “Merrill, what is it?”

“I’m going to have a baby!”

Anders rubbed the woman consolingly, but his lower jaw had to have been somewhere on the floor. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

She clutched at his tunic and wailed, “Yes!”

He stifled a laugh and continued to run his palm up and down her back. It took a bit, but soon enough Merrill seemed to have herself in hand and stepped back, lifting her face to give him a watery smile.

“Does Garrett know?”

Merrill shook her head. “I don’t know how to tell him, Anders. What if he doesn’t want a baby? What if he just doesn’t want one with me? I haven’t used blood magic since I destroyed the mirror, but what if he can’t ever forgive me for it? I don’t know what to do!”

Her green eyes filled with tears and Anders did his best to stem them from falling. “Hey, hey. Listen to me, if the past meant shit to Garrett Hawke he’d never have accepted most of us into his crazy little family. If you want my opinion, you should tell him, as soon as possible.”

“Tell me what?” Hawke stepped into the kitchen, looking at them curiously. When neither of them answered, he stepped closer. “Merrill, love, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Anders,” Garrett’s face turned red with anger, “if you’ve upset her, so help me-“

“I’m pregnant!” Merrill flung herself into Hawke’s arms and Anders quickly stepped away.

Garrett looked poleaxed. “What- how- Are you sure?”

“Yes!” More wailing.

“Is it- are you sure it’s mine?”

Anders winced and shook his head. _Maker, Hawke, no do not ask that!_

Her tear-damp face furrowed with rage. “Of course I’m sure! How could you-“

Hawke gathered her up in his arms, clutching her tiny body to his. “Merrill, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m just – You’re going to have a baby. My baby.” Emotion clogged the other man’s voice and Anders slowly made his way out of the kitchen and out of the estate. 

Now was a moment for the two of them, they certainly didn’t need him hanging about, looking on with sad, slightly envious eyes during such a blissfully happy moment.

* * *

The knock on the door roused Fenris from his bleary-eyed stupor, but only just. He growled and grumbled as he made his way toward the door. He didn’t want company, especially not now that he was drunk enough to shut off his thoughts and emotions. He pulled open the door and stumbled backward, apparently not inebriated enough to be unaffected by the sight that greeted him.

“Hi, Fenris. I’m guessing you’re avoiding me, which is, well it is what it is.” The mage lifted a basket. “And I’d be glad to let you, but I’ve been sort of run out of the estate. For now at least. I don’t suppose I could wait here, for a bit, until Hawke and Merrill leave? I brought food.” 

Anders smiled warmly, though even squinting so he could see clearly, it seemed to Fenris the gesture didn’t quite reach those amber eyes. No, he could not come in. Fenris didn’t want him there. He wanted to be alone. “Come in.”

_Damn it!_ Too much alcohol to force his tongue to comply with his wishes, the elf found himself stepping away from the door, inviting Anders to enter.

The mage capitalized, though he paused and looked down at Fenris. “Are you drunk?”

“Utterly. What is in the basket?”

“Nothing fancy. A couple loaves of bread, some cheese, fruit, a crock of butter and honey.”

Fenris found himself a bit disappointed as he closed the door.

Anders chuckled. “Are you… pouting?”

He frowned and led the way deeper into his home. “I do not pout.”

“Hmm, if you say so. Where should I put this?”

“I am in my room. You may do with it as you like.” Fenris didn’t turn around as he climbed the stairs. He needed more wine, his body beginning to rouse and that would not do.

Anders followed him, he could feel the mage at his back. Settling himself on the floor in front of the fire he heard the man curse beneath his breath.

“Maker, are you trying to kill yourself?” The mage motioned to the half dozen bottles of wine.

“I will not die, _mage_.” He uncorked a seventh bottle and took a long drink, spilling some of it over his chin in the process.

Anders sighed. “Back to that, then, as well. Alright, elf, have it your way. At least eat some bread.” The mage sat cross-legged near him, but not close, and dug through the basket until he came up with a loaf of yeasty goodness. He split it between them, shoving Fenris’ portion into his hand, then turned back to the basket and began to make his own meal.

The elf ate the bread, but refused anything else, and wished for unconsciousness, to shut up the voice in his mind clamoring for him to move closer to Anders, to press his head to the knee and seek comfort. To silence a darker instinct to lash out at the mage and blame him for the chaos he suffered. Anders needed to go. He needed to leave, so Fenris didn’t have to fight with and against himself.

“Why are you here?”

Anders shrugged his shoulders. “Hawke and Merrill needed some time.”

“Why were they,” he sighed loudly, conversation becoming much too complicated. “Why?”

“Um, I don’t think… Hawke needed a few things. They were picking them up.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Anders snorted. “When you’re schnockered your speech changes. Contractions all over the place.”

“You. Here. Explain.”

The mage sighed. “I’m not saying more, so there’s that. Have you ever been smote?” 

Fenris felt himself weave a bit in his seat as he swung his face toward Anders. “Smote?”

“Yeah, has a Templar ever tried to use his powers on you, specifically?”

He closed his eyes, to stop the mage from wobbling all over. He thought back, could remember fighting against Templars, he was sure they used their abilities, but he wasn’t sure, so he shrugged. “Dunno.”

“I thought you said their power didn’t work on you.”

“Then they do not.” He had to carefully speak the words, lest he slur.

“Damn it, Fenris.” Anders jerked the bottle from his hold. “Enough.”

“Give it back, _mage_.”

“No. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Fuck, I am an idiot.”

Fenris thought the mage was speaking more to himself, and he couldn’t come up with a coherent response anyway, so he remained quiet. Suddenly, he felt hands tugging at his arm, pulling him toward warmth and the smell of ozone, honey and citrus. He tried to shove Anders away, but had no success, his movement ungainly and disorganized.

“I don’t give a shit if you want to be near me, elf. Get,” a firm jerk and a second hand around his left shoulder, “over here so I can make sure you aren’t killing yourself.”

He fell into Anders’ hold, felt his back pressed tight to the human’s chest, then the wash of magic over him. He didn’t feel any less intoxicated so Fenris stopped trying to get away.

“You are dangerously drunk, but not quite poisoned. Maker, I’ve heard of disappearing into a bottle, but you take it to a whole new dimension.”

“Need quiet. No more arguing. Not confused.”

Anders gave a humorless laugh and wound his arms around Fenris. “I know. And damn me for being helpless to make it better.”

Held tight, the warmth of the mage surrounding him, Fenris closed his eyes and let alcohol guide him into the ether.

* * *

Anders stirred from his makeshift pallet on the floor at the first low moan from the bed. He rose and left the room, headed to the kitchen. The elf was definitely going to need a hangover aid this morning. He returned a few minutes later to find Fenris half in and half out of the bed, hands gripping his head as if the appendage was like to split in half.

He took one of those lyrium-lined parts and pressed the glass into his hand. “Drink this, all at once and quickly. It tastes like a genlock’s ass, but it’ll have you put to rights in no time.”

Fenris lifted his head, green eyes thoroughly bloodshot but did as Anders directed. He wasn’t sure the warrior would keep it down, stepped back in fact when it looked like Fenris might bring the liquid up with force, but through determination, he’d wager, the elf managed to keep it down.

“Why are you here, mage?”

“Call it selfishness. I’ve no desire to be the Ambassador of Kirkwall.” It was a lie, but considering how Fenris acted yesterday, the heavy drinking, the avoidance, the drunken confession of needing to be numb, Anders had made a decision.

Hard as it was for him, and it was unbelievably difficult, he would let the elf lead this dance. And that meant he could flirt, he could tease, he could even snipe at Fenris, a return such as it was to the post-Justice Anders. But he had to put distance, physical and not, between them once more. That seemed to be what the elf wanted, and despite every single part of Anders screaming it was the last thing he should do, it was the only choice he could make. Either Fenris would choose to go forward or he wouldn’t, and making the elf feel cornered wouldn’t help.

He wanted to comfort Fenris, hug him, tell the blighted pain in the ass he wasn’t alone in the madness, and he didn’t have to be either. He wanted to shake him, tell the elf there could be something so much better, so much more fucking precious between them if he’d only trust… But all of that would be wasted words and even more useless emotions. In the end, it was better if Fenris stopped here anyway. Anders would hurt, but the pain would be much easier to handle at this point than sometime later, if he pressed the issue and the elf ran so far there was no hope of catching him.

“I am fine.”

“I beg to differ. Death certainly offers oblivion, but I doubt that was what you were after. Didn’t you tell me suicide was a sin in the eyes of the Maker?”

“ _Fasta vass_.”

“Indeed. But now that you’re awake and on the living side of hung over, I’m off.” Anders collected his basket and started from the room.

“Mage?”

“Elf?”

“I do not remember you coming here.”

“Don’t worry, Fenris, nothing happened. I dropped by, you were shit faced, I stuck around to make sure you didn’t choke to death on your own vomit. See you around.” He took the stairs two at a time, needing to get out of the mansion before he did something utterly pathetic and started to cry.

He stopped at the estate only long enough to bathe and change clothes, then headed for the Gallows. He hated the place, but he needed to talk to Cullen, ask the Templar if he could borrow his talents for an experiment.

“Anders. I’m surprised to see you here.” The Knight-Commander looked up from his desk.

The mage noted the dark circles, that had seemed ever-present before Meredith’s fall, were almost gone from beneath Cullen’s eyes. “Cullen. You look… well, you look better.”

The other man gave him a crooked grin. “It’s amazing how much better I sleep now. Can I help you with something?”

Anders leaned in the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest, and hooking one foot over the other. “Actually, there might be. Have you ever smote Fenris?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“I’d like you to.”

The Knight-Commander scoffed. “Are you mad? I like my heart where it is.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “It’s always the fisting thing. Listen, I’ll make sure you’re safe. But something came up recently and I need to know if Fenris’ brands are somehow tied to latent or maybe even bound magical ability.”

“Why does it matter? If it’s latent, there’s no danger. If he’s been bound, or his magic is into those brands, the result is the same. Isn’t it?”

Anders was impressed. Cullen wasn’t just an idiot Templar wanting to keep an eye on the evil mages, he actually knew something about magic. “Sort of, maybe. The thing is, we killed off the magister – the maleficar – who put that lyrium in him and owned him in Tevinter. Since Danarius’ death, though, the only time I think Fenris used his brands was,” he paused and Cullen acknowledged what neither wanted to mention. “Anyway, there’s a chance that some magic used by the magister may have kept Fenris’ talents, if he truly is a mage and not just mage-blooded, locked away.”

“I see. If that were the case, then he could begin to manifest his power and he’d be unlikely to have the slightest idea what to do. It might destabilize the brands as well.”

“Right. So, will you smote him?”

“If it interferes with his ability, that’ll prove him a mage?”

“If it interferes it will suggest his might be, at which point there are a few things I’ll do to make certain that’s the case.”

“I understand. Alright. I’ll do it. But you must tell him what is going to happen beforehand. I respect Serrah Fenris and have no desire to earn his ill will.”

“Agreed. Well, that’s all. Thanks, Cullen.”

“Have a good day, Anders.”

The clinic was busy by the time he arrived, but Mary stopped him as he was about to wash his hands and prepare to see patients.

“The Viscount came in a bit ago. He wants to see you. Ah, now, don’t give me that look. Jenny and I are more than capable. Besides, aren’t you going away in a couple of weeks? Better to see how we do on a normal day, get an idea if we can handle it, than to find out it’s all too much when you’re in Amaranthine.”

Anders grudgingly agreed. “Alright. But once I’m done at the Keep, I’ll be at the estate. If you need me, come get me.”

“Yes, Anders. Now off with you.” She shooed him and he chuckled, but left.

He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to see Hawke, truth be told. It wasn’t that he resented Hawke’s good news. He didn’t, at all. In fact, he was thrilled for the two of them. But considering the rather insane emotional see-saw he’d been on over the last few days… Swallowing his own disappointments, he squared his shoulders and entered the Keep, determined to be the friend Garrett needed.

He rapped his knuckles on the door and heard Hawke bid him to enter.

“Anders, good, I was hoping you’d come this morning. I’ve a luncheon with Elthina.” He didn’t sound terribly thrilled.

“Oh? Some Chantry related business?”

“No. I want her to marry Merrill and I. As soon as possible.”

“Whoa, Garrett, did you even ask Merrill about this?”

Hawke shot his a glare. “Of course I did. I even told her I’d do whatever I could to find a Keeper to do the ceremony, whatever she wanted. She said she could incorporate parts of her Dalish heritage into anything. I’m not all that excited because I’m not sure Elthina will agree.”

Anders nodded. “I get it, but I think it’ll turn out alright. Elthina was useless as a leader, in my opinion, but she is a kind, compassionate woman. And with our Circle our own and her reinstated, I’ve heard good things. She seems to have adopted our attitude and emphasizes living with empathy and understanding in her sermons now.”

“Then I’ll hope she agrees. But that wasn’t why I asked you here. I want you to stand with me, at the wedding. And both of us want you to be second-father to our child.”

Anders had to sit down at that. Not standing with Hawke, that was a given, of course. But second-father? “Garrett… I don’t know what to say.”

The other man came to his side, pulled another chair close and turned it so they faced each other. “We both know there’s a better than good chance this baby will be a mage. And we both want him or her to be raised with magic treated as a gift and not a curse. It would mean everything to us, Anders. We know if something were to ever happen, that you would love our child like your own.”

Anders blinked and gave a watery chuckle. “Of course, Garrett. To both. I’m humbled. So, who’s the second-mother? Isabela?”

“Actually, no. We surprised each other when it turned out both our choices were identical. I’m not sure exactly how Fenris will react, but there it is.”

“Fenris? But why, that’s-“

“Because Merrill and I realize that despite his past, no one would be more loyal, nor fight more fiercely to protect our child than that elf. And that matters more to us than anything.”

Anders was ashamed, especially since he knew better than Hawke how true those words were. The fact that all their years of vitriol still crept in to color his thoughts and words made the mage angry with himself. “No, you’re right. I was being an ass. I don’t know that he’ll agree, but Fenris would be an excellent second-father.”

Garrett gave him a curious look that slowly softened, changed and for a moment, Anders really hated that he’d been in a serious relationship with the man.

“You slept with him.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, shit, Anders. You didn’t sleep with him. You _made love_ to him.” Garrett’s voice was soft and full of empathy, of comfort.

He wanted to deny it, to call it a good fuck _(mind-blowing fuck)_ and nothing more, but Hawke would never believe him. “Listen, really. Do not say a word. Do not imply you know, nothing Garrett. I, um,” he looked away from the other man. “I’m a bit out of my depth here and I think if he suspected for a moment that others knew, I think he’d shut down and lock me out. Maker, he already has, but… Anyway, I’ll be alright. No worries. I’m still going to Amaranthine with him and I’m still coming back.”

Hawke took one of his hands and squeezed gently. “I don’t know if I believe that, but I’ll respect your wishes about Fenris at least.”

Anders tried and failed to give the man a reassuring smile. “One way to get over a broken affair: being eaten by the ‘spawn.” 

“Let’s hope that doesn’t become your solution. Hard to be second-father if you’re dead.” Garrett gave him a sarcastic grin and Anders mood lightened a bit.

“I think I’m going to go home. I feel rather tired.”

Hawke released him only to clasp him in a warm hug before Anders left. Feeling slightly more upbeat as he walked out the doors of the Keep, the mage thought a nap actually did sound rather good.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth and the cruelest of cuts...
> 
> So, heads up, Fenris+assholery= Even I want to kick his ass

Four days. It had been four days since he’d seen Anders and Fenris' every moment, awake or asleep, was hounded by the relentless urge to seek him out. He couldn’t take it anymore, not the constant arousal, not the growing pressure in his chest, not the itchy way his skin felt. He had no idea what was wrong with him, but by the Maker the mage was going to fix it. Though the symptoms were similar to how he’d felt in Starkhaven, they were exponentially more potent and he was quickly losing the ability to handle the situation.

He made ready and left the mansion, heading for a meeting with the Knight-Commander. Orana had brought a missive two days before and read it to him without hesitation. It seemed Anders wanted Cullen to use his talents on Fenris, something about an experiment. As he stalked the steps toward the docks, the elf didn’t really care at all about whatever test the mage wanted done. All he cared about was getting Anders alone and finding out what was happening to him.

 _You’re feeling something beyond hate, rage, or apathy._ He cursed his inner-voice. He couldn’t understand these feelings. He thought he could, when he’d started to realize he _cared_ about the mage’s well-being, about Anders period. That he wanted to spend time with him. He wanted to know him, see beyond the appellation of mage or healer or apostate. He’d been fine, then. But once he’d… he’d spilled himself in the mage, everything was… not the same. He held no sway over these more intense, deeper emotions, and the only way he felt like he could have any command was by keeping clear of Anders.

And four days taught him that was _not_ even remotely effective.

He entered the Gallows and noticed it was bustling, something he hadn’t seen since his first year in Kirkwall. Not just that, but there were mages walking about without brands, the sound of children laughing clear in the air. He glanced at the shuddered, seemingly dejected statues of chained mages and thought the brightness he felt now was so much better than the fear he’d felt then.

Anders and Cullen were waiting for him inside the courtyard.

“Ah, excellent, you’re here. I’ve cleared out one of the gardens, just to be safe.”

Fenris’ eyes raked over Anders, hungry at this first sight of him in too long. Something showed on his face because the mage curled his hands at his sides and swallowed hard. Good, he hoped the bastard was suffering just as much. It took significant effort, but he managed to look away from Anders and follow Cullen deeper into the Gallows.

He recognized the ‘garden’ from both his trip into the Fade to help the elf/human mage Fenyriel, but more recently when he and Anders had helped mages flee during the battle for the city. The Knight-Commander asked him to move toward the back of the space, which he did, before Anders spoke.

“I’d like you to activate the markings first and Cullen will use smite.” He pulled a pad of parchment from his bag and a pencil. “I want to know what it feels like, if you notice anything, and I’ll make observations as well. After that, I’d like you to make the brands dormant. He’ll repeat and then you’ll try to use them. Same thing, you tell me what you experience while I take notes. Once both tests are complete, we’ll go on. Is that alright with you, Fenris?”

“I am here, are I not? I want to be done with this.” He called to the lyrium in his skin, and nodded at Cullen.

“Do focus, Knight-Commander. It won’t do any good for me to be smote as well.” Anders grinned at the other man, who snorted before clasping his hands and releasing a wave of energy directed at the elf.

Fenris felt it roll over him, the markings flickering, and he struggled a bit to keep them lit. Irritated, he growled and channeled his anger. The lyrium died, then flared back to brilliant life less than a heartbeat later.

Anders scribbled furiously at his pad for several minutes, during which time the elf’s markings hummed with constant, steady energy. “You can stop glowing now. Are you good to continue?”

Fenris snarled. “Yes.” He silenced the lyrium and tried to ignore the growing buzz in his flesh. It rose from beneath the brands, a tingling, energized thrum that he found distracting, though not painful.

“What did you notice?”

“I felt his power, like water, flow over me and my connection to the veins wavered. It angered me. I focused and though the brands died, they returned to full power with little effort and remained steady thereafter.”

“Okay. Cullen?”

The Templar nodded and smote Fenris a second time. His reaction was much the same, though this time igniting his brands was more difficult. The glow started faintly, growing slowly over several seconds, and he found himself mentally pulling, hard, at the lyrium to bring it to life. In total, it couldn’t have taken more than two minutes for them to pulse to full strength, but Fenris was unsettled by how hard the action was to accomplish, especially since using his ability was never problematic.

“What was it like this time?”

“It felt like something was in the way. I could still feel the lyrium, but it was challenging to reach, to activate. I do not like how long it took to bring the marks to life. But as you can see, the result is the same. I have full control of my talents.”

Cullen looked at Anders. “Certain?”

“Not completely, but definitely a much stronger chance.” Anders gaze swiveled to the elf and Fenris tried to ignore how those honey-dark eyes made him feel. “Those experiments were helpful. I’d like to try a couple more things, but I’ll have to use magic. Would you allow that?”

“Yes.” He should have said no, but he couldn’t refuse the mage, not while he stared into those warm, compassionate orbs.

Anders set his tablet and pencil down and came toward him. “I want you to ghost again. I’m going to send healing magic into you while you’re lit up. And we’ll see what happens.”

Fenris nodded and did as the mage asked, noting he had no after effects from the smiting. Anders nodded as he called his magic, though the minute the soft green light connected with the brands, and moved deeper, Fenris lurched forward. Something rose through him in a rush, a surge of power eagerly seeking Anders’ magic, twining with it, and the sensation stole his breath, made him dizzy.

“Easy, easy, Fenris.” Strong arms steadied him, then pulled away. “Well, that sets it, doesn’t it? You’re a mage.” Anders gave a shaky laugh, obviously feeling a similar instability in the aftermath of his test.

“I am not.” Fenris refused to believe it.

“Yes you are, but it seems like the entirety of your talents lie in creation magic, specifically the healing chain, which explains not only your amazing recuperative powers but your unnatural speed as well.”

“I do not believe you.”

Anders sighed. “Fine. We’ll do the last one again. This time without the brands. I want you to feel your magic. Then try to pull it back from mine.”

The mage’s power pushed into him and again, a wave of strange energy lifted through Fenris. He didn’t like it, was uncertain of it, but he did as Anders told him to and focused on it, imagining his hands yanking it back, holding it close and refusing to let it touch the cool green of the Warden’s magic. The power obeyed, but it seemed unwieldy and Fenris found the lyrium in his skin humming, coming to life as he struggled to maintain control of whatever Anders had unleashed in him. As soon as the tattoos were lit, the foreign energy calmed and Fenris found he could control it without difficulty.

The mage stepped back, taking his magic with him. “Tell me what happened.”

“I felt something, but it is bound to the brands, I can sense the connection. The harder I tried to keep it from yours, the more the lyrium was attracted until it came to life. When it did, I could control it easily. Why did that not happen the first time?”

“Because the first time you didn’t know it was magic or that it was yours. Now you do, even if you don’t want to. How are you feeling?”

“Stop asking me that. I am fine.” In truth, he was feeling rather tired, but he refused to show that to the mage or the Templar.

“You know what? Be a stubborn ass. There’s one more thing we need to try. I want you to conjure a spell wisp. It is the most basic spell in magic. It’s instinctive for all mages. It’s not something you need to be taught. All you have to do is imagine a little, glowing ball of your magic. Just close your eyes, seek out the power, and shape it to your will.”

“Are you testing ability?”

Anders stepped away from Fenris, back toward Cullen. “Yes. Where he falls will determine how we proceed. Go ahead, Fenris.”

Snarling at the idiocy of all of it, he closed his eyes and searched for this _magic_ Anders claimed he had. He felt it, he recognized it as different from the lyrium, but it was faint and hard to take firm control of. He almost used his ability, just to make it easier to find, but the mage had not asked him to do that, so he grit his teeth and searched for a tangible connection.

It took some time, but eventually Fenris was able to gather the power and then he imagined a tiny, floating orb. He funneled the energy into the image and felt sweat bead on his head and beneath his armor and he fought to bring it to life.

“That’s enough, Fenris, you can stop now.”

Gratitude washed over him and he sagged a bit, feeling weak and yet… the buzzing in his skin, the agitation he’d been trying to ignore for days grew until he felt like he was coming out of his skin. With a growl, he began to pace, only half listening to Anders and Cullen, needing _something_ to settle him, to stop the furor of thrumming strangeness stretching through every inch of his being with each passing minute.

“He’s weak then.”

“Mmm, seems so. But the lyrium enhances it, I think. It focuses it and boosts its effectiveness, though as a result his power is almost completely self-directed. Like I said, enhanced healing, increased speed. That bastard of a magister was fucking clever.”

“Anders, the elf looks like he’s a bit wound.”

“Damn it. I was worried this might happen.”

Fenris wanted to pull his hair out, the other men’s conversation seeming disjointed, though he knew it wasn’t. But the vibrations wouldn’t stop, they were getting worse and he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think. He wanted to hit something, needed to tear something apart…

“Fenris. Fenris!” Strong hands grabbing him, shaking him. “Fenris, listen to me. You have to relax. Let me help you.”

The elf dug his fingers into Anders arms. “Make it stop.”

“Whatever Danarius did, Fenris, some of it was magic. All the tests this morning… I’m sorry. Breathe with me and focus. Together, I’ll guide you, and we’ll get things back to normal.”

“Please.” Fenris hated the needy, frightened sound of his voice, but he was helpless.

“Okay, Fenris, you lead me this time. Take my magic, and show me where yours is coming unraveled.”

The elf really had no idea what Anders meant, but he felt power roll into him, unshaped and an instinct long dormant stirred to wakefulness. Fenris shifted his reality inward and found the frayed edges the mage spoke of, collapsing against Anders when the ‘other’ power went to work folding those ends in, tying them back to the lyrium and tucking them away, safe, calm, under control.

The anxiety lifted, the frustration eased, and Fenris had never been so relieved. Or so livid. He shoved Anders backward, blinking his eyes open. “This is your fault!”

Anders staggered, but held a hand out to the Templar when the other man tried to steady him. “No, it isn’t. It was going to happen eventually. Better now, under controlled circumstances, than in the middle of a fight or the sea.”

“You did this to me, _mage_.”

“Oh no, I’m not going to let you pull that shit with me. Magic isn’t fucking contagious, _elf_. It is, however, hereditary.”

“Will he need to be Harrowed?” Cullen’s voice drew both men’s attention.

Anders shook his head. “No. Justice used to say he could hear Fenris’ song. Outside the Fade, he might attract the attention of Fade Spirits, but in it? All that fucking lyrium makes him invisible. Spirits don’t seek out mortals and have you ever heard of a demon trying to possess a lyrium vein?”

“No.”

“He’s better protected than any mage in history from demonic temptation. Unless Fenris actively sought out a demon-“

“I would do no such thing. I am no abomination, nor do I seek to be. Only mages are that weak.”

“You are weak, Fenris.” Anders spat the words at him.

“I am _not_ weak!” He roared and made to rush at Anders, but Cullen stepped between them. 

“Anders didn’t mean you are weak of mind. You are weak in magic. Please, can we at least be civil?”

Fenris drew calming breaths and stepped away. Not far, he remained within arm’s reach of Anders, but far enough to alleviate the temptation to hit the man. “What do you suggest I do, _mage_ , now that you have tampered with things better left alone?”

The man crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Listen, there’s really no reason for you to be so pissed. You’ll never have to worry about being a danger to anyone, Fenris. Your magic simply doesn’t have the strength. You’ll never be able to throw a fireball or chain lightning. As for the seeping, with practice and a bit of training you’ll have total control over it and you won’t have to deal with what you just went through. I bet you could even work a bit of healing magic to syphon off the extra power.”

“I don’t want it.” He glared at Anders.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Fenris knew what he was about to say was beyond harsh, but he was so angry, terror and disgust in equal measure, that his lips and tongue were moving before common sense could stop them. 

He looked at Cullen. “Cut it out of me.”

The Knight-Commander’s eyes widened, but Anders reacted much more violently. 

The crack of flesh impacting flesh was startlingly loud in the large, enclosed space and Fenris actually rocked back on his heels, head snapping to the side.

“You fucking bastard. _Crudelis fera_.” 

Despite the ringing in his ears and the fiery pain shooting through the side of his face, the sound of a single, harsh sob was unmistakable. Fenris didn’t have an opportunity to even begin to correct his horrific transgression, let alone stand upright before the sound of quickly retreating steps echoed in the stone chamber.

“Even I could not have been so cruel, Serrah Fenris.” The disapproval, the repulsion in the Knight-Commander’s tone cut almost as deep as the intractable pain he’d heard in Anders.

Fenris didn’t reply and soon enough Cullen removed himself as well, leaving the elf alone to deal with the consequences of his foolish mouth. 

* * *

Anders barely made it to the docks before he had to find an empty alcove to turn into, to hide the wrenching agony tearing through him. He didn’t give a shit how scared Fenris was, to demand to be made Tranquil, the elf couldn’t have savaged the mage worse if he _had_ taken his heart from his body. To hear the other man state he’d rather be a mindless slave again than be a mage…

Whatever there was between them could not go on. Even though part of him knew Fenris had spoken out of fear, he really didn’t think he could forgive the elf. But as he thought the words, though, something deep inside him refuted that claim. He would forgive Fenris, if – and that was the crux of it – if the bastard explained himself. If he ever bothered to stop running away, to stop lashing out with malice when he was backed into a corner, which Anders honestly didn’t have much hope would happen.

He rubbed the tears from his face and took several deep breaths before he felt like he could finish his journey to the clinic with reasonable calm. Fuck, he had never, never struck someone like that in his life. Punching, kicking, and walloping an enemy in a fight, sure. But he’d never backhanded another person in rage and the fact that he had upset him almost as much as Fenris’ remark.

He was a healer, by the Maker. He offered compassion, sympathy, caring. He didn’t strike out at those who angered him, he didn’t punish. _He_ didn’t. Justice had, yes, but he was not Justice. To have reacted that way, seeking to inflict harm instead of heal it went against his most basic nature and it made him ill just thinking about it.

By the time he made it to the clinic, Anders hoped for a busy day to take his mind from the disastrous morning and hopefully leave him completely drained, so he could return to the estate and fall into an exhausted sleep. Perhaps with the dawning of a new day, he would feel less ravaged.

Mary, Jenny, and Orana all gave him worried looks when he came in but the women sensed he was not in a place to talk. They gave him plenty of space through the day, occasionally stopping to press reassuring hands to his arms or back, but otherwise they didn’t fuss or prod him. Anders was immensely grateful to them. As the line of patients tapered off to nothing, he looked at the three women and gave them a tired smile.

“You three are amazing. I have no worries at all. The clinic couldn’t have better healers. I think I’m going to take a few days. I need some time, to get organized and such, before I leave.”

“Of course. You take however much you need, Anders, dear.” Mary came and patted him on the cheek. “We’ll be right here.”

He leaned over to bus a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “Thanks, Mary.”

Jenny and Orana both gave him hugs before leaving, Anders close behind them. He doused the lanterns and turned toward Hightown, needing his bed, needing the dark.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has had enough... and the beginning of reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving you guys waiting after that last chapter... I know it wasn't long, but still, forgive me?

Garrett Hawke didn’t bother to wait for Fenris to answer the door. The elf jolted upright in bed at the loud, angry bellow from the room at the bottom of the stairs.

“Fenris! Get your ass down here! Now!”

His eyes widened for that was a tone he had never heard, in all the years he’d known Hawke. He drew his tunic on and made his way to the landing.

“Hawke? What are you doing here?”

“What am I? Are you fucking mad! What in the Void do you think I’m doing here? Did you somehow imagine I, the fucking Viscount of the city, would _not_ find out that you asked Cullen to make you,” the human’s voice broke, every word thundering with fury and outrage. “Fucking _**Tranquil**_ ! In front of Anders?”

“Hawke, let me-“

“I don’t want to hear your bullshit, Fenris! I don’t care! That man hasn’t left the estate in almost a fucking **week**. Hasn’t left his bedroom, by the Maker! Now you are going to get your ass down here, and we are going over there if I have to drag you by your fucking ears, elf, and you are going to stop running the fuck away. Or so help me, I will kick the shit out of you so badly you better hope Danarius had something more up his sleeve, because no amount of healing will bring you back. Do. You. Understand. Me?”

Garrett’s entire body became a star as magic poured out of him, violent, raging, held in check only by the mage’s control and for the first time in their acquaintance, Fenris felt a frisson of fear. The man before him made it look like his ex-master had only played at power.

“Answer me!”

“Yes. I will go with you.”

“Then get walking,” those words came barely more than a low, infuriated growl.

“Give me a moment.” Fenris returned to his room and collected the satchel the mage left behind in the Gallows on that fateful morning. Then, as calmly as he could, he descended the stairs and moved toward the door.

As they stepped into the Hightown street, Hawke spoke from behind him. “I have never, and I mean never, been more revolted, more Maker-be-damned disappointed in another individual in my life, Fenris. How the fuck could you? I do not understand you, do not understand your ina-fucking-bility to stop, just stop. Maybe Merrill and I were wrong. If you could be that vile to Anders, how can we possibly trust you wouldn’t do something equally as reprehensible to a child?”

Those words, softly spoken, almost took Fenris to his knees. He tripped and tried to hide the shame burning his face. “Hawke, I wouldn’t-“

“Wouldn’t you? I know you feel something for Anders, Fenris. I can _see_ it. If you could hurt him like that, then why would I believe you wouldn’t do the same thing to an innocent child? Forget it, I’ll deal with that later. But that man is my best damned friend and I refuse to allow this shit to go on. Anymore. And if what you’ve done causes him to leave Kirkwall for good, then you’ll be following him, Fenris. I promise you that.”

One reaped what they sowed and the elf was beginning to understand that in a way he never had before. His callous actions in the Gallows had fundamentally broken something in his friendship with Garrett and even if he managed to patch things up with Anders, this trespass would always taint the relationship he had with Hawke. Perhaps the mage was right. He was a heartless beast.

As they approached the estate, Fenris hesitated and earned a swift boot to the backside. “You open that door and go inside.”

He turned a glare on Hawke, body tense. “Keep your body parts to yourself.”

Hawke was in his face, slamming his body into the stone like a cat on a mouse. “Don’t think for a second I am even remotely intimidated by you, elf. I can and will beat you bloody without magic. Now get in that house.” He thrust Fenris from him and the elf had to struggle to keep his brands quiet.

His own wrath grew with each breath, but he knew he was only looking for an outlet, for an excuse to avoid the very act Hawke was demanding of him. And the other man knew it as well.

“We can have a knock down drag out, Fenris, right now if that’s what you want. And then I’ll throw your broken ass inside and you can pray Anders will take pity on you. I don’t care. Make the choice.”

Fenris pushed back his anger and jerked the door open. He went inside, but Hawke remained at the portal. “Aren’t you going to hold my hand?” He sneered at Garrett, curling his lip.

“No. I’m going to fucking stand here and make sure you don’t try to run away like the _coward_ you are. Go.” He lifted one arm and pointed.

Fenris cursed but made his way to the inner door and stepped through. The house was eerily quiet as he closed the door. There were no lights on, and every drape was drawn leaving the interior very dark, only the barest hint of blood-red tinted light filtering in. There was no fire, no movement, it looked like no one had been there in days. Orana was nowhere to be seen, in fact Fenris couldn’t even detect the scent of food having been prepared recently.

He made his way up the stairs and stopped outside Anders’ bedroom. He had no idea what to say, how to even begin to mend the tear he’d willfully rent between them. Oh, he wanted to, wanted to so badly he’d been drowning himself nightly just to escape the frightening agony squeezing his insides in a vice. What he’d done could not be undone, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Hawke was right. He was a coward. So frightened by magic, so terrified by the hunger to be with Anders, he’d done the one thing he’d subconsciously known would likely kill any future between them.

He no longer had magisters to blame. This was his fault, his screw up, his apology to make and his task to mend whatever could be repaired, for Anders sake, for Hawke, and for himself. If the last several weeks had done nothing else, it had proven to Fenris being free didn’t mean much if one were isolated, alone, and miserable. Learning he was a mage mattered little in light of that greater truth.

Instead of knocking, Fenris twisted the nob, relieved to find it unlocked and walked inside. It was even darker in here, Anders having moved the wardrobe in front of the one window, nearly fully blocking all light from entering. Thankfully, his elven sight was much better than a human’s; otherwise he would have had difficulty making his way to the bedside.

He brought the chair with him, noting the single pile of clothes in front of the dresser consisted of the outfit Anders had worn almost a week past. There was also a distinct lack of dishes, and that stirred a more serious concern in the elf. Had the Warden gone without food all this time?

“Anders.” He pitched his voice low.

The mage stirred, but didn’t wake, though some part of him recognized Fenris’ voice. His face pinched, then crumpled, and in sleep he began to weep.

“No. Can’t… do it. Go ‘way, Fenris.” The words were disjointed, little more than whispers, as if Anders were dreaming.

Fenris looked at the ceiling and tried to ease the burning pressure behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and spoke the mage’s name again.

“No more.” Moisture slipped from Anders' closed lids and Fenris felt a frantic kind of panic take hold of him.

“Wake up, Anders. Wake up.”

“Sleep. All forgott…” his words faded and the mage rolled away from where Fenris sat next to the bed.

“ _Träumen_.”

Anders rolled to the far side of the bed in the blink of an eye, back to the wall, one hand filled with a bright, crackling ball of electricity. “Who said that?”

“I did.”

“Fenris?” The magic disappeared, plunging the room into darkness again. “What the fuck do you want? You know what, I don’t care. Get the fuck out.”

“I cannot.”

“Oh yes you can. You made it in, you can make it out.”

“Hawke will not let me leave.”

There was a long pause, then a curse. “We’ll see about that.” The bedcovers shifted and in the shadows, he watched the mage climb off the foot of it. He strode to the dresser and pulled out leggings, jerking them on with uncoordinated movements. In the lacking light, though, Fenris could see the wasting of the other man’s body and had to squeeze his eyes closed. This was his fault, he had done this to Anders.

While he’d been accepting his guilt, however, the mage was not so still. With no warning, Anders jerked him out of the chair, rammed his shoulder into Fenris’ belly and threw the smaller man over his back, standing and heading for the door. 

Fenris was dizzy, all the blood from his torso rushing to his head. He was shocked into silence, his only reaction a soft grunt as Anders pounded down the stairs. He heard one door open, then the second, and light from outside rushed into the foyer a moment before he was flying through the air. He landed on his backside and skidded across the hard stone of the Hightown road.

“There. Took out the garbage. Hawke.” The front door slammed with as much force as the mage could muster.

“You deserved that. Best get up and back in there.” Garrett looked down on him with absolutely no sympathy.

He picked himself up off the ground and narrowed his eyes at Hawke. “He does not wish to see me, let alone speak with me.”

“Oh well. Guess you’ll have to keep repeating this until he’s too exhausted to do it. Which doesn’t look to take long, since I’d guess he’s lost _ten fucking pounds_ since I saw him last.” 

The words had their intended effect. Fenris swallowed shame and reentered the house.

Anders threw him out on his ass four more times. The sixth time he opened the main door, Fenris was determined it would not happen again.

* * *

“Five times out on his ass and he still can’t leave it alone.” Anders gasped and threw himself on the bed. He was too fucking exhausted to get up again. Five days without food did that to a normal person, but a Grey Warden? If he hadn’t had fury and decimated emotions to draw from, he’d likely never have made the trip the first time.

Fenris didn’t appear immediately, but he knew he was in the house somewhere. Too weak to do more than shift himself onto his back and push further onto the bed, Anders laid there and waited for the elf to reappear. He was drifting back to sleep when he felt the twinkling of his magic that signified Fenris’ presence. He awareness had been stronger when he carried Justice inside, but even after, there was a sparkling sensation in his core whenever he was near the elf. 

A strong arm came around his back, lifting him into a sitting position. He pushed at Fenris, to no avail.

“You will eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will eat, or so help me I will find a tube and force feed you.”

“Why?”

“Because I will not allow you to waste away in a fit of pique.”

“A fit of- You son of a bitch!” He hurled a spirit bold at the elf, but the bastard dodged.

“Good. If you are angry, then perhaps you will stop wallowing.”

“Wallowing!” Another blast of magic, this one hitting Fenris square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. “How dare you?”

“Eat.” The elf picked himself up and brought a tray to the bed.

“I told you I'm not hungry.”

“And I told you I would find a tube.”

“I don’t need your insincere care, elf, nor a disingenuous apology forced out of you by Hawke. Leave.”

“I am not insincere.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am sorry.”

“You’re a _liar_.”

The elf shoved a piece of bread into his hand. He didn’t want to eat it, his stomach turned at the thought, but choking it down himself sounded better than having it crammed down his gullet so he took a small bite.

“I am not lying. I am sorry, for what I said in the Gallows, for my behavior over the last two weeks.”

“Then why, Fenris? Why would you say that? You’d rather be a slave, a mindless fucking slave, than be a mage? What possible fucking reason can you have good enough to explain that? What, you fucking prick!” Anders’ voice rose and rose with each word until by the end he was bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“I am terrified!” Fenris screamed back at him.

“I told you, your magic isn’t strong enough-“ His throat hurt with the shouting, but he couldn’t rein himself in.

“Of you!” The confession was torn from the elf, Anders heard it in the harsh, broken roar of the words. “Of you. Of this need for you that I cannot escape. I awake, every day, aching for you and it only grows worse as the light lengthens. I knew… I knew if I hurt you badly enough, you would go away. I thought that would make it better. But it hasn’t made it better.” From screaming to words so soft Anders had to strain to hear them.

“Why? Fenris, why?”

“Because I have no control with you. No protection good enough, no distance far enough. I want to lose myself in you, in all ways, and that… Not even Danarius had that from me. To know it is you… it’s too much. I am tearing myself apart, a voice inside screaming that you would put the pieces back together, another raging I am a fool for willingly giving another mage the power to rule me.”

Anders didn’t bother to stop the droplets rolling down his face, but he struggled to keep his voice as even as possible. “I don’t want to rule you, Fenris. I never have.”

“I know. Please, Anders, believe me when I tell you I am deeply sorry for hurting you. I should never have attacked you in such an unforgivable fashion. I have suffered every moment since, wishing I could go back, change things. There is only one thing in my life I regret almost as deeply and that was my final act as a slave. I would never return to that state, ever, Anders. This magic unsettles me, but it is not so grievous a thing I would willingly enslave myself to avoid.”

Anders didn’t respond. He couldn’t if he wanted to. The elf had no idea how much his honesty affected the mage. It wasn’t that he was no longer angry, no longer pained, but it made it so much harder for him to stop _loving_ the man. _I doubt that will ever happen. This is one for the books._

He shook his head at himself and ate the rest of his bread, after which the elf handed him a few slices of what turned out to be apples, then a glass of water. Anders shook out the blankets and laid back down, his back to the elf. He didn’t want to talk anymore, didn’t want to try and figure out where he and Fenris went from here. He just wanted to sleep a little while more…

* * *

Being lifted from the bed woke him and Anders clutched at the shoulders beneath his hands. “What?”

“You need to bathe. Orana is changing the bed.” Fenris’ voice was soft, uninflected.

The elf carried him into the bath, where he’d lit a few candles to provide light. Beyond the window, the dual moons shone in the night sky. The water was hot and Anders hissed as he slid into the tub.

“Is it too warm?”

“No.”

“Then I will leave you to your ablutions.”

He grabbed the elf’s wrist. “Stay. Please.”

“As you wish.”

Fenris settled beside the basin and Anders relaxed into the stone. He dozed lightly for a time, before he felt the press of fingers on his forearm.

“You should wash before the water grows too chill.”

Sighing, he reached for the hard bristled brush, scrubbing his soap over it before applying it with as much force as he could muster. Soon enough his body was clean, but not his hair. Plunging beneath the water, he made quick work of the long threads and finally he was ready to get out.

Fenris helped him stand, wrapping him in a towel once he was free of the water. They returned to the bedroom to find the fire lit and a meal on the dresser. The elf brought the tray and Anders climbed between fresh sheets. The food was simple, the best for Anders then, and when it was gone he laid down.

The elf took his dishes and set them aside before he tugged at the covers. “I will return in the morning.”

Again, moved by an instinct of the spirit and not the mind, Anders took hold of Fenris. “Stay. Please.”

He watched the elf battle himself before giving in. “As you wish.”

Fenris pulled off his shirt and lifted the blanket, slipping underneath. Anders shifted away, not touching, but before long he couldn’t hold back any more. With strength he didn’t think he had, he grabbed Fenris and pulled the elf hard into his arms. Hands fisted behind the other man’s back, he clutched so tightly it was a wonder Fenris could breathe. 

When the smaller body began to shake, when he felt the warmth of sorrow against his chest, he pulled harder. His arms became a vice, sealing Fenris to him. He could not let the elf go. 

“Why? How can you want me near you?” Anguish was clear in the words, if the sobs themselves were not.

 _Because I love you, Fenris. To the moons and back again. Around Thedas and home again._ “You aren’t the only one terrified, Fenris. The difference is, I decided to stop running a long time ago.” He lifted one hand to the back of the elf’s head and hugged him closer, dipping his face to kiss the crown. “I’m here. I have you.”

Finally, Fenris responded, grabbing hold of Anders shoulders with bruising power, clutching just as hard, and the mage gave him all the comfort, all the love he couldn’t speak, holding the elf, protecting him, forgiving him long into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank goodness, a bit of fluff, cause wow I need it after those last two chapters :D Also, magic, the mystery of life, and more mended fences.

Fenris opened his eyes slowly, wincing, which only made the ache in them worse. He didn’t know how long he had cried against Anders, how long the man had kissed his hair and held him fiercely. And he didn’t know how he was supposed to act now, either, but he felt… different. No other word was sufficient to explain the sensation.

He shifted and Anders pulled him backward, the long line of his body pressed hard to the elf’s posterior side. Fenris flexed his fingers and found comfort in the stretch of the digits around Anders longer, larger ones. Even the insistent rise of the human’s erection offered the elf some measure of comfort. Neither of them was in a place to take advantage, wounds and guilt still too raw, but it gave Fenris hope his foul deed and more loathsome cowardice might not spell his own misery, might not guarantee an empty life.

Sighing, he let himself relax and for once not think something to death. He was good then, and he didn’t want, refused in fact, to let anything spoil the quiet space. 

Anders moved behind him, his lips pressing against his ear briefly. “I need to get out of bed. I’ll be shit for healing, but I should go to the clinic anyway.”

“May I… go with you?” 

The human hugged him. “I’d like that, Fenris.”

They dressed and though he had some awkwardness, was unsure, Anders didn’t push, let Fenris come along at his own pace. He didn’t speak of the night before, instead moving through breakfast as if it truly was a new day. Fenris saw glimpses of sadness, a small downturn at the corner of the mage’s mouth, but none of it lasted beyond the blink of an eye.

When they entered the clinic, Orana gasped and if looks could kill, the other two women would have slain the elf in the doorway. Anders greeted them. He let the females pull him into the second room, and Fenris moved to a waiting chair. He deserved their ire and would bear it without flinching. It was the least of what he deserved.

No only their distrust, but Garrett’s disdain as well. When he’d gone to the door last evening and asked Hawke to send Orana to prepare a simple meal and change the bed clothes, he’d seen a glimmer of forgiveness in his friend’s eyes, but it had disappeared quickly. Fenris sighed, he would have to work very hard, he thought, to earn back Hawke’s trust, perhaps harder than he must for Anders.

As though called by thought alone, the mage appeared in the door jamb. “Fenris, will you come in here for a moment.”

He rose, uncertain, to follow Anders into the procedure area. There was a very pregnant human on the last cot in the room. The mage stopped by the woman’s side and as Fenris approached, he realized she was in extreme distress.

Anders took the woman’s hand. “Marjorie, this is my friend, Fenris. Fenris, this is Marjorie. She’s only just arrived on a ship from Gwaren. A few Templars brought her in. She’s not a mage, but she in labor and it’s past time the baby came.”

Fenris wasn’t exactly sure why he was there, but he gave the woman a small nod. “Hello.”

“I ain’t ne’er seen no knife ear ‘ike ‘im.” Though she used the pejorative, it was apparent she meant no offense.

Anders smiled. “Not many have. Fenris is unique.”

“Special is ‘e?”

The mage looked at him. “Most definitely. Now, Mary and Jenny have done what they could, but not had much luck helping you out. I’m hoping, between Fenris and I, we’ll be able to get your baby delivered and everything will be fine. Alright?”

“I trus’ ya, ‘ealer.”

“I’m going to step over here and speak with Fenris for a moment, but don’t worry, Mary and Jenny will be by your side, and Orana is going to keep mopping your brow.” Anders patted her hand before passing the woman off to one of the other mages.

“Listen to me. Her baby is in the wrong position. Its back is to her cervix, instead of its head. The Templars said the boat captain claimed she’d been in labor for at least two days. If we can’t turn the child, my only other option is to cut it out and that is delicate, extremely dangerous work.”

“What do you expect me to do? I am no – I have no understanding of this magic inside me.”

“I know. Do you remember how you directed my magic to fix yours?”

Fenris nodded. “Yes.”

“We’re going to do the opposite this time. And you’re going to activate your brands. I believe doing so will boost my magic as well.”

“You want me to act for you as Danarius wished? To replenish your mana?” He tried not to get angry, but it was a near thing.

“No, I want you to pair your power with mine. She needs more healing than I have in me, and that’s a considerable amount. I want you to use your magic to help me save her and the infant.”

"I thought you would not be able to heal today."

"This can't wait. I've taken a couple of lyrium potions to refill my mana well. But I'm not one hundred percent. That's why I need you, Fenris. I wouldn't ask-"

Fenris searched Anders eyes and nodded. “I will help you.”

Anders gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you. Here's my plan. You stand behind me and put your hands on my chest. Then call the lyrium and seek out your magic. This will be the hard part for you, but you need to imagine you’re sending it into me. I’ll let you know when you get it right.”

Both men returned to the table and Anders put his hands on Marjorie’s distended belly, slipping his palms over the skin until the edge of his right hand met the small sheet draped for modesty over the woman’s lap.

“Alright Fenris.”

He stepped into Anders, turning his face to lay his cheek at the top of the human’s spine and brought his hands up to cover the smooth muscles of his chest. He activated his brands and the mage made a soft wheezing sound, a sort of gasp.

“Anders?”

“I’m fine. Unanticipated side effect. Don’t worry about it.”

“I told you-“

“Jenny, by the Maker, later.” Anders’ voice was tense, but held a hint of humor. “Now your magic, Fenris.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, seeking out the now semi-familiar buzz intertwined with his brands. Lyrium humming, it was easy for him to connect with the magic and even easier to funnel it outward, into Anders.

“Excellent, Fenris. Alright, Marjorie, I want you to relax and breathe, slow and easy.”

The elf tightened his hold on Anders as he felt the mage tugging at his magic. Fenris couldn’t ‘feel’ where the power was going, or see what the man was doing, but he found himself hoping this idea would work. That he could help save this woman and her unborn child.

Time passed in increments and Fenris felt himself growing tired. He drew on the well of stamina learned during the long, arduous, unmerciful training Danarius subjected him to in order to keep his feet. He had to maintain his connection, not only to the magic inside him, but Anders as well. The cloth beneath his cheek grew damp, from his own sweat and the mage’s as well, but still he remained steady, kept the lyrium alive and glowing, until he heard Anders speak beneath his ear.

“Marjorie, dear, I need you to push. Push as hard as you’ve ever pushed. Mary.”

“I’m ready.”

“Push now, that’s it, tuck in your chin and use that scream to power the effort. That’s a girl, Marjorie. Alright, lean back against Orana and take another deep breath. One more push and the baby’s head will be out. Then you can rest for a few minutes.”

He heard the woman struggle and grunt, heard a scream cut off and turned into a growl, then he felt Anders move against his palms. “Take a break while we clean out the mouth and nose.”

There was more movement, a squelching sound, and the mage guided the woman once more. “Just one more big push, and your child will be here. Come on, bear down, there, there! Oh, Marjorie, he’s beautiful.” Anders sagged into him and Fenris tightened his hold, despite his immense weakness. Long fingered hands covered his own a moment before the loud, healthy squall of a baby echoed through the clinic.

“That’s enough, Fenris. Pull back, now. You did it. We did it.”

It was the elf’s turn to be on unsteady feet, his fingers gripping Anders’ chest for balance. “I am glad, but I think I need to sit down.”

“Oh, damn, yes. I’m sorry, Fenris. Really, I’m sorry.” The mage hurried him to a cot and helped him onto it. 

Fenris fell back, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. “No, it’s good. I did a good thing. With magic.”

Anders smoothed his hair away from his face and looked down at him, eyes shining with pride and something warmer, deeper. “You did an amazing thing, Fenris. You saved two lives. With magic.”

“Then that is sufficient.” He let his eyes close, smiling a bit when Anders soft lips pressed to his forehead.

“Elf, it’s so far beyond sufficient as to be the opposite. But you do tend to understate things.”

* * *

Fenris shot up on the cot, a bit wild eyed and Anders moved to his side. “Easy there.”

“Anders?”

“You’ve only been a sleep a couple of hours. Aiding me took a lot out of you, but after a full meal, you should be back to yourself. Thank you again, Fenris. For trusting me. For helping. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to turn the baby, let alone fix all the trauma inside her body.”

“I am glad I was helpful.”

“Wood ya ‘ike ta 'old ‘im?” Marjorie lay on her side, a small bundle curled next to her breast. “’E’s done feedin’.” Her face was lit from within by joy and Fenris was fascinated by the look.

He looked at Anders, really unsure about the prospect of holding a newborn human.

“I’ll be right here. If you want to, that is?”

He tried to shake his head, but all that happened was a tentative nod. Slipping off the cot, he made his way to the female, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor beside her. If he dropped it, well, it wouldn’t fall very fall that way. Anders smiled down at him as he lifted the tightly wrapped babe, and settled him in the crook of Fenris’ arm.

“There you go. Look at that, you’re a natural, elf.”

He felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, but he couldn’t look away from the tiny, perfect face visible in the opening of the cloth. He’d never, that he could recall, seen a baby up close, let alone held one. The child was truly amazing, tiny nose and lips, eyes too large for its face, skin untouched by the sun as creamy and soft, truly softer, than anything he’d touched. He smoothed one finger over a plump cheek, grinning when the babe turned toward his finger.

“Wat’s yer name mean?” 

He looked up and found the human smiling at him. “Little wolf.”

“’Tis a good one. Tha’s it then, his name’ll be Andris. After the men who made sure he came to me live an ‘ealthy.”

Fenris looked down at the boy and didn’t know what to say, so he did what he thought was right. “I am honored, lady.”

“Ooh, ‘e called me lady!” Her giggle tittered like a small bird.

“I’d like you to stay at the clinic for a few days. Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Aye. The babe’s father’s at the Tower.”

“He’s a mage?”

Marjorie nodded. “Came here ‘cause they say you’re free in Kirkwall. Can marry an have families too.”

“Yes, we can.”

“Good, ‘cause I tells him, I says, he best be makin’ an honest woman o’ me.” 

“Will he?” Fenris couldn’t help the stern tone of his voice. He found he was unsettled by the idea of Marjorie and … Andris being left to fend for themselves.

“An protective too. Yer a good one, you are. No fears, though, my man only ever wanted to marry me and get a whole passel of little ones on me. And I want nothing more than the same.” The woman was by no means a beauty, but the love pouring out of her spirit made her radiant.

“Then that is good.”

A few minutes later, the clinic door burst open, a tall, skinny, gawky man in robes rushing inside the treatment room. “Marjorie! Marjorie, oh thank the Maker you’re alright!”

Anders moved out of the way as the man came to the woman’s side and took her in a tight, noisy embrace. 

“Billy! Oh Billy.”

The sound of armor chafing drew Fenris’ attention and he looked over his shoulder to see Cullen in the doorway. “I brought him as quickly as I could. There was some confusion, but it won’t happen again. The Templars at the dock thought the mage had to come register with the circle before he could follow his wife. I explained, in situations like this, exceptions will be made.” The Knight-Commander looked a bit cross and definitely apologetic.

Anders nodded. “It’s alright. In this case, he might have been in the way. Things were touch and go, but everything turned out perfectly.”

“Could I?” The mage held his hand toward Fenris.

“Of course.” He leaned forward and a bit reluctantly gave up his precious burden.

“Marjorie? Jenny will be staying the night, just to keep an eye on you. And Billy?”

“William. Only Marjorie calls me Billy.” The new father looked up from his son and gave Anders a soft smile, a blush teasing his cheeks.

“Well, then, William. You’re welcome to stay as well, unless the Knight-Commander objects?”

“No.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much for taking care of my family.”

“You’re most welcome. Fenris, if you feel up to it, I think we should go to the tavern and have a drink.”

Rising from the floor, the elf nodded. “I agree.”

Anders looked past Fenris’ shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night, ‘ealer.”

Cullen followed them out, parting to return to the Gallows. Fenris walked close to Anders, the warmth of his body so near making the elf feel good. In fact, despite being a bit tired, he felt really good. He dipped his head and smiled.

“Why are you hiding your face?” The tip of Anders finger pressed beneath his chin. “Ah, an honest to Maker smile. Damn, Fenris, you are stupid good-looking when you smile.”

He chuckled. “Stupid good-looking?”

“You know how Varric told you women would line up to have your broody babies? They’d trample each other to have your smiley babies. It would be all out war in the Marches.”

“You overestimate my appeal.”

“You don’t look in a mirror often enough.” Anders nudged his shoulder, smiling broadly as he opened the door to the Hanged Man.

They stepped to the bar and Corff greeted them warmly. Anders ordered four bowls of stew, two loaves of bread, and ales. He handed one of the mugs to Fenris with Corff’s promise to send Norah with the rest to the dwarf’s suite.

They pushed their way through the crowd and mounted the stairs. When they reached the doorway to Varric’s room, however, Fenris found himself on the receiving end of several dark looks. He shifted uncomfortably. It seemed they all knew how badly he’d erred. When he would have turned around, though, Anders caught his free hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Fenris, no more running.”

He nodded, holding tight to that hand, and followed Anders inside. Varric gave them both a smile as they sat next to each other, a first, and no one missed their linked fingers. It was Aveline who broke the tension first, which anyone who knew the woman should have expected.

“If he’s forgiven you, than so can I. It’s not as if any of us here are perfect. Or haven’t put our feet in our mouths a time or two. But don’t do it again.”

Fenris dipped his head to her. “I will endeavor to exist with less offense.”

She gave a hearty laugh at that. “Damn you, Fenris. And not even a hint of a sneer.”

Anders didn’t seem to understand why the Guard-Captain was so amused by his remark, but Fenris saw Hawke and Varric both grin. “I’m missing something here, aren’t I?” 

“A very long time ago-“ Fenris started to answer Anders, but Varric cut him off.

“During a jaunt through the undercity, the illustrious Captain suggested our Tevinter friend should be more discreet about, well, himself.”

“And I replied thusly. It seems I should have heeded her advice more closely.” He looked at Anders and the man rubbed his thumb over the back of Fenris’ hand.

“You aren’t the first person not to take Aveline’s advice.” Anders shot the woman a grin, to which she gave a snort.

Norah came in then and placed their meals in front of them. Fenris attacked the stew with relish, unbelievably hungry. Anders too tucked in and after a few minutes, they both seemed to realize their companions had fallen silent.

Anders laughed. “Fenris and I had a difficult delivery this afternoon.”

“Delivery?” Merrill sat forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“Mmm, yes, a Ferelden woman, I’d guess by her accent, came in on a boat from Gwaren. She’d been in labor for two days and the baby was positioned all wrong. But between the two of us, we managed to get the baby turned and the damage inside Marjorie healed.”

“You helped?” The Dalish woman was wide eyed, not in disbelief, but with avid interest and curiosity.

Fenris shrugged. “That is what Anders says.”

“No, that’s the truth. If it hadn’t been for your magic, I might have been able to do one or the other, but not both. And I won’t have you selling yourself short.”

His face heated and so he began eating his second helping in order to avoid showing the warmth in his cheeks. He stopped about half way through the bowl and looked up at Merrill. “She let me hold him. I’ve never seen a baby before.”

“Was he tiny? Does he have a name yet?” The other elf’s eyes were almost glowing with delight.

Fenris nodded. “He is very small, but his eyes are very large, and his cheeks plump. And she named him Andris.”

“Oh, what a lovely name! A mix of Fenris and Anders, right?”

“Yes.” Anders jumped in; his food finished, and continued to talk to the others while Fenris ate.

Once the remnants of their meals were cleared away, the cards came out and the evening passed pleasantly. Fenris excused himself to the privy, and when he came out, he found Garrett waiting for him. The two men stared at each other for a long time, long enough that Fenris dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Damn you, Fenris.” Those big, burly arms jerked him into Hawke’s chest. “Don’t you ever disappoint me like that again. I don’t think I can take it, you understand? I don’t ever want to be that angry, that upset, with you ever.”

Fenris hugged the much larger human back, surprised how comfortable it felt. “I am sorry, Hawke.”

“I know, you bastard. I love you, you know? Despite how Maker-be-damned hard you make it sometimes.”

The elf gripped the back of Hawke’s robes tighter. The man’s words staggered him, not just what he said, but the clear, ringing truth in them. Fenris could only vaguely remember his mother saying those words, and only once or twice that he could recall. He knew Garrett meant them in a different fashion, but he was moved beyond speech regardless.

Finally, Hawke thumped him hard once, twice on the back, and pushed them apart. “Fenris? What’s the matter, man? Shit, I did something shocking again. I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t help it, he started to laugh, which only seemed to worry Hawke more. When the human made to go get Anders, Fenris stalled him with a hand to his arm. “Hawke. Garrett, I am fine. It is… I am… You surprised me, that is all. No one has said they loved me in a very long time.”

A warm, gentle smile curved Garrett’s mouth. “I see. Well, I do. Now what do you say we go back in there and you help me win back some of my gold. It hardly seems fair for Aveline to take my coin. After all, I pay her salary already.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sexual situations ahead - you've been warned.

“Do you two have everything?”

“Yes, Hawke, for the hundredth time, we have everything. Maker, will you stop worrying.”

Garrett frowned. “I can’t help it. The two of you are leaving my protection. Cullen says it’s getting ugly out there, unrest brewing in Orlais, some kind of disturbance in the Veil. I won’t lose anyone else, damn it.”

Anders hugged the man. “We’ll be fine. Neria is expecting us and she’s sending men to meet us in Amaranthine. I promise. Fenris and I will be as safe with the Warden Commander as we could be in Kirkwall.”

“No offense, but didn’t she leave you alone with a Templar turned Warden that tried to drag you back to the Circle. And didn’t that lead to you agreeing to let Justice take a ride in your body? Pardon me if my esteem for that crazy elf is less than yours.”

The mage clapped Hawke on the back and released him. “She didn’t have a choice. And if I believe her, you should as well. Now, don’t you have a city-state to run?”

“Send a letter when you arrive. At least I’ll know you got there in one piece. And don’t be gone too long. I’d be devastated if you missed the birth of my child.”

“I’ll be back, Garrett.”

Hawke snagged Fenris’ arm as the elf strode past them. Another hard hug, fierce pounding, and he let the elf go. “Don’t let any of those damn ‘spawn get their hands on him.”

Fenris gave a small smile. “I won’t.”

“Alright, go, before I start to blubber or something else equally as mortifying out of a Viscount.”

He and Fenris both swallowed sighs of exasperation as they turned and boarded the ship. The captain nodded at them and a cabin boy showed them to their room. Once inside, Anders stretched out on the bed. “Sometimes being a healer has its benefits.”

Fenris snorted. “Indeed.”

“Hey, just because I cured his crotch rot doesn’t mean it’s a little thing. It got us the best room on the ship, didn’t it?”

The elf shook his head. “I suppose you’ll be expected to take care of the crew while we’re on board.”

“I told the captain I would, though Hawke gave him plenty of gold. But dealing with the ills of the men aboard will give me something to do on the voyage. Speaking of,” he opened the flap of his satchel. “I brought some things for you as well. It’ll take at least a week, and that’s if the wind holds, to get to Amaranthine. You can practice reading while I deal with crab lice.” 

Anders gave him a bright grin and Fenris laughed softly. “So long as you do not bring it back to our bed, mage.”

“As if you have to worry, elf. You’re completely bald.”

Fenris’ face heated and Anders chuckled, though the sound faded away and the human’s breath deepened in a pattern he knew well. Though they hadn’t been intimate in that way for more than a fortnight, the elf heard that rhythm every night as he fell asleep and every morning when he awoke. 

“Fenris?”

He looked up at Anders, watched the man run his tongue over his bottom lip. Fenris wished it was his flesh dampening the mage’s mouth. Desire grew between them until Anders rolled onto his back and tossed his arm over his eyes. “Never mind.”

“What do you want, Anders?”

“Maker, just say that a few more times and I’ll be good.”

“Anders.”

The mage rolled over once more and looked at him, just looked at him for a while. “You know, Neria asked me that once. I gave her a flippant answer. It was true, nonetheless, still... What I want right now is to hear you say my name again. Beyond that, I’m flexible.”

“Anders.”

“Not that name.”

“Träumen.”

His eyes closed. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say it. Perfectly. It fills some empty spot I hadn’t realized was there. I can’t ever be him again. I know that. But the way you say it makes me think dreams don’t always get shattered.”

Fenris stepped closer to Anders, close enough to stand between his legs and pull him close. This urge, to touch the mage often, to hold him, unnerved the elf, made him feel weak and strong, dizzy and grounded, but all of it was better than the dreadful, clawing emptiness he’d suffered those long days his fear had kept them apart.

Anders arms came around him and he sighed, warm breath passing through the cloth of his tunic. “Will you read while I’m in the galley, treating scurvy?”

“If you think for one moment that I would willingly leave you alone on a ship filled with lonely sailors, you are very much mistaken.”

The mage laughed against his belly. “Why Fenris, that sounded positively possessive.”

He tipped Anders face back. “You are mine. It is best they understand that now, mage.”

The mage bit his lower lip and his pupils expanded, black overtaking amber. “Fuck, elf.”

Fenris smirked. “Later.”

Anders released him with an unsteady breath. “I’ll hold you to that, Fenris.”

“We will see who holds whom, Anders.”

* * *

By the time they retired to their cabin, Anders was exhausted. He wanted so badly to take the elf up on his earlier teasing, but he simply hadn’t the energy. “Damn those filthy bastards.” He groaned into the pillow, hearing a soft laugh escape Fenris.

The warrior pulled off his boots, then rolled him onto his back to begin unbuttoning his tunic. “I would say you made good progress. Perhaps tomorrow will not be as trying.”

“At this rate, I won’t get laid until we get to the Keep!”

“Is that all you think about?”

“Are you breathing? Within fifty feet of me? Hell, have you been within fifty feet of wherever I am? Then yes. Mostly.”

“Anders!” 

His name was a laugh and the mage thought the rusty quality of that sound was finally ebbing. It pleased him immensely. “It’s your damned fault. I mean really, I was perfectly content to bitch at myself for the occasionally errant fantasy. And then you had to go and have a wank in a cramped tent, in a cave, and leave incriminating evidence behind. I can’t even smell lyrium anymore without getting semi-hard.”

“You are in no condition to follow through with what your words are stirring, mage.” Fenris’ voice was a low, rumbling growl and Anders' mind responded, even though his cock could not. 

An utterly empty mana pool meant nothing could stand up for long, no matter how much he might have wanted to himself, let alone his prick. “You asked.”

“In truth, that was not my fault. It was yours.”

Anders struggled to open his eyes as Fenris tugged off his pants. “Mine! How was it my fault? I was sleeping, for Maker’s sake!” He shook his head, laughing at Fenris’ raised brow.

“You were the one who opted, as I recall, to share the tent with me. The very small tent.”

“As I recall, we didn’t have much choice. Hawke’s tent was barely big enough for him, which is why Varric got stuck with Garrett. There was room for a dwarf, not an overly tall elf or an even taller me.”

“It was your scent, the mix of ozone and honey and citrus and, well, you.” Fenris climbed into the bed, as nude as Anders, and pulled the blankets around until they were both covered, the movement of the ship a gentle lullaby all its own. The elf buried his nose beneath Anders’ ear and breathed deep. “That smell, to be precise. That was what finally undid me. The first time.”

Anders curled his arm around Fenris, pulling the elf close. “Who knew soap would change my life?”

Fenris nudged him, but he felt the smaller man’s smile in his soul and it was beautiful.

* * *

It was the soft caress of warm, slightly calloused fingertips that remade him.

Fenris opened his eyes and was greeted by the amber-brown of Anders’, the human on his side, head propped up on one palm. “You aren’t angry, are you?” The mage’s voice was soft, gaze softly worried.

“No. I enjoy your touch.”

Anders smiled. “I know, but I usually ask first. You were so peaceful, and I, I just-“

He smiled. “I can empathize with your situation.”

The mage lifted a brow. “Is that right? How long were you touching before I woke up then?”

“Hours. You sleep very deeply.”

Anders laughed, low and hungry, his pupils expanding until dark-gold barely limned the black. “It’s no wonder I was a half-breath from going when I woke.” His humor dimmed, gaze searching Fenris’. “That night, you said you weren’t inexperienced. Only that you’d never wanted to do it before. Were you, did he-?” Anders cut himself off, large palm pressed over the elf’s strongly beating heart.

Fenris swallowed and looked down at that hand. “I told you Danarius made certain everything I learned was something he could use. My training in seduction was no different.”

Anders tensed beside him. “That son of a bitch. If I could kill him again, I swear I would draw it out until he begged to die.”

“I learned a thousand ways to bring a body to the edge and keep it there. A hundred ways to make a person willing to do anything for release, to make even the most resistant beg, scream, wail for me to bring them.

“But Danarius would never have allowed his prized pet to be damaged in such a fashion. What good would I have been if I were in a healing bed for days recuperating? No, I learned how by torturing others, but I was never touched, was not allowed to take my pleasure. And so I learned, learned to tune out theirs sobs, their pleas, their screams. And I basked in his approval when I was finished. As I always did.”

“Is there nothing he didn’t taint?” Anders pressed his fingers to Fenris’ jaw, turned them face to face.

He curved his hand over the mage’s. “He may have given me knowledge to better sharpen the blade of his weapon, but I choose to employ those talents differently now. And it is good. You are the first I have ever known, the first pleasure I have shared, given and received in return. Nothing will corrupt that.”

“You mean to say, you were really?”

“Untouched. If I had a lover before I became Fenris, I do not remember them.”

“Maker. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You were my choice. I do not want a different one, nor would I have picked another.”

“Fenris.” Anders leaned over, placed his lips over the elf’s. 

It was a chaste kiss, by all standards, but it went straight to Fenris’ heart. It filled him up and poured over his edges, and he wanted more of it, forever.

Anders pulled back, running his thumb over the elf’s bottom lip. “You slay me, and I am glad for the sacrifice. What do you want, Fenris?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Everything. All of it. I want to know you, the feel of your body, the stretch of mine. All of it.”

The mage grinned and traced his fingers away from Fenris’ mouth, up over his cheek, to his forehead, down the straight line of his nose. “Well, that’s not too much to ask.”

He watched the mage learn him, sighed beneath the tips of one hand as Anders caressed his jaw, down the line of his neck, light touches over the marks on his throat. He shivered, body tightening.

“Do they hurt?”

“No. They did, once, at the press of any magic. Until you. Your touch soothed, your magic incited. It was one of the things I hated most about you, when we met.”

“You mean when I heal you, you get aroused?”

“I mean any time your magic crosses my skin I am hard.”

“Wait, so on the coast-“

“I did not curl in on myself in pain, mage.”

Anders paused over his clavicle and laughed. “Tit for tat, then. I suppose it’s fair.”

Fenris turned his head. “What do you mean?”

“Men don’t normally scream like banshees when they come, Fenris. Lyrium can be used as an aphrodisiac and it has recently come to my attention that when you light up and touch me, my cock stands up in a dizzying rush. When you did it inside of me, Maker, nothing in my life has ever come close. I wasn’t lying when I said I was ruined.”

Fenris grinned. “I did not know… It was an instinct.”

“A good one.”

They stopped talking then and Anders resumed the motion of his hand, learning the brands Fenris both resented and counted on, and the unmarked skin in between. He outlined the curve of every muscle, took the measure of his breadth, seemed to memorize the jut of each bone and joint.

When Anders circled the tightened tip of his nipple, Fenris arched slightly, wanting a harder touch. The mage chuckled, but kept his fingers tantalizingly light, moving away, to the center of his chest and downward, swirling around his navel. He laughed and curled in a bit at the ticklish sensation.

“Ah, I see someone has a sensitive tummy. I’ll have to remember that later.” Anders didn’t linger, but he did shift, sitting up and pushing the covers away, revealing all of Fenris to his gaze.

The elf felt a moment of self-consciousness, but he held himself still, watching emotions roll over Anders’ face as he took in the scene before him. There was awe, and want, the flush of desire staining the human’s cheeks, but there was also affection and warmth. Long fingers better suited to healing than harming trekked lower, over the top of one thigh, then the other, calloused ends trailing hunger in their wake.

His cock rose thick and long from his groin. The organ was heavy, but his need was such that it was forced away from his belly, bobbing with every beat of his heart. 

“You are magnificent, Fenris. Truly, you steal my breath.”

“Touch me.” He knew he was blushing, but it was alright. Anders was there. 

“Roll over, please.”

Fenris complied, shivering when Anders brought both hands to bear as he smoothed over powerful shoulders, along the well-developed muscles of his back. Wielding a massive sword was good for more than hacking enemies to pieces. The mage continued on, down to his waist, over the globes of his ass. There Anders paused, squeezing, pressing, teasing the shadowed crease between his buttocks until Fenris moaned softly and lifted his hips into the caress.

He heard Anders chuckle and then he moved on, backs of legs, down to his feet. Even through the thick callouses there from a lifetime of trotting the world barefoot, Fenris felt his touch. He hummed in the back of his throat, and gave in to the sensations bombarding him, the gentle languor Anders’ soft touch spread through him contrasting with the insistent throb in his groin. The ebb and flow of arousal rushed through his blood with each breath.

The mage moved again, this time to cover Fenris, the firm press of Anders’ cock heavy against his backside. Warm breath stirred the hair over his right ear. 

“Do you trust me, Fenris?”

“Yes.” Without thought, without question.

“Let me show you what you do to me.”

“Anders.”

The mage touched his tongue to the shell of Fenris’ ear and he jerked beneath the human’s weight. His ears were so sensitive, almost like another set of genitals on his skull. He shivered, then shuddered, then moaned as Anders traced the edge with his tongue, then his teeth. The man threaded his hand into Fenris’ hair, holding him still when he plunged that nimble appendage inside the twists and whorls, hottest breath followed by hard teeth and wet tongue. The elf curled his hands into the bed clothes, hips grinding against the mattress.

“Anders, Anders it’s too much!” Fenris felt like he was coming apart and the mage hadn’t hardly begun.

“Don’t come, Fenris, not just yet.”

He clenched his jaw and tried to calm his breathing. He stilled his hips, whimpering when Anders moved down from his ear and began kissing and biting along the side of his throat and then around the back of his neck. The fingers at his head loosened and Fenris moved with the mage, as Anders tasted every inch skin, beneath the line of his hair, at the top of his spine, sucking hard then biting deep, making his way to the other ear. Once more Anders became an anchor, holding Fenris’ head still as he seduced, for there was no other way to describe it, his auricle.

The arousal was more potent, every sensation heightened partly because Fenris knew how to withhold his own orgasm as well as stemming another’s, and partly because the second ear was more sensitive in the first place. His breathing was harsh, fingers cramping against the plain linen, moans flowing from his lips. His cock ached and he teased himself while Anders torment continued, thrusting shallowly against the bed.

“You’re so sexy, Fenris. Maker, I could suck your ears and let your rolling hips bring me off without ever touching anything else.”

He whimpered as Anders left his ear and moved down, leaving hot open mouthed kissed to mark every bone of his spine, large hands spread wide over his ribs. The mage shifted, and Fenris moved as well, spreading his legs to make space for Anders’ chest. Warm fingers gripped his glutes, massaged the muscles, traced over the lyrium designs there and Fenris lifted into the touch.

Anders kissed him and he groaned, feeling the smile on the mage’s lips against his skin. But the human didn’t just kiss the skin, he licked it, rubbed his cheek over the curve, hummed his desire where ass met thigh, and then set teeth to flesh. The first nip startled the elf, he grunted and shifted, but with each subsequent nibble, he grew more and more tense, fire washing over him.

“You like that. Would you like this then?” The mage took a larger, deeper hold and Fenris shouted his pleasure.

His reaction to the harsher touch spurred Anders, the man applying himself until the sheet beneath Fenris’ cock was damp with precome and his whole body shook. It took everything he had not to come, especially when Anders bit particularly deep into the thickest part of his rump, a growling noise coming from the mage.

“Anders, Anders.”

The bed moved and the human wrapped his hands around Fenris’ hips, tugging him back, pushing his ass upward. “Lift up for me, Fenris.”

His voice was husky, gravelly and filled with need and the elf gladly moved until his knees were bent and under him, lifting his lower half up, but keeping his shoulders and chest to the mattress. His cock swayed as he spread his legs a bit, opening himself to Anders in the most vulnerable way.

“So beautiful.” Strong thumbs teased the edges of the crease then pulled the flesh apart a moment before hot breath caressed the hidden place between.

Every nerve in Fenris’ body was electrified at the first touch of Anders’ tongue to the most secret part of him. He’d never felt, had no idea what to expect, he felt himself grow dizzy and realized he was holding his breath. He gasped, loud, and fought to hold still, to not move as Anders licked the outer edges of the small entrance.

The mage teased him until Fenris was rocking against his mouth, whimpering for more, and then he drifted lower, tongue and teeth skating over his sensitive perineum, down to his testicles, the sack pulled close to the elf’s body, proof of how close he was to the edge. Anders whispered his lips over the skin, tongue darting out to tease the firm orbs within, then his mouth retraced its path and once more, the hot, wet, firm press of flesh, circling, flicking, and Fenris thought he would go mad.

“More, please!” He cried out. He didn’t care how needy he sounded. He _was_ in need, painful, throbbing, aching need of something. He had to move to the next plateau before he lost all control.

Anders understood all he could not articulate and pushed deeper into Fenris’ body. He surged forward, thighs bunching, buttocks clenching as he moved higher, the concupiscence inside becoming a living thing, stretching to press against the very edges of his being, to encompass him en masse. Every inch of his skin became a receptor for sensual delight, each hair danced with the power of his ever expanding hunger.

The mage’s fingers dug hard into his flank, holding him open as he thrust in and out, but it seemed that wasn’t enough for Anders. His grip sure, he flipped Fenris onto his back, a surprised shout leaving the warrior's lips at the forceful change of position. There was a zing of power and then the mage’s slippery finger pressed against his backside, seeking entrance.

Strong digits encircled the base of Fenris’ cock, holding him upright. The elf lifted his head, wanting to see, needing to watch. His hands scrambled for a pillow, something, to keep him elevated. His gaze met Anders down the tight, taut line of his body and every bit of his raging passion was reflected in those honey-dark orbs.

The mage breached his body the same instant the head of Fenris’ cock slipped past those soft, warm lips. The dual sensation tore a loud moan from the elf and tightened his grip on the cushion behind him. He spread his legs wider, rolling hips up both to feel more of Anders mouth and to take more of the human’s finger.

“Anders!” Fenris arched his neck, the muscles of his arms and shoulders clenching as he pulled against the pillow and fought to keep hold of the ragged bits of control he had left to him.

The mage took him all the way in, the wide flare of his glans stretching Anders’ throat, while the long finger continued to move, slowly, in and out, pausing only to trace the puckered edges outside his body before gliding forward, digit rubbing along the upper boundary of the channel, seeking, searching, and finding-

“AH!” His hips came off the bed and the mage took a strangle hold on the base of his cock, cutting off his release, forcefully holding Fenris suspended, just on the edge.

Anders hummed, pulled his mouth back, swirled his tongue up, around, down the thick shaft between his lips. Fenris’ body was so ready, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen contracting erratically, quivering, as he held himself tremulously, surfing the tidal force of Anders' every suckle, plunge, swallow. He felt like he was slipping from his body, falling into a place where nothing existed beside hunger, where the only thing that mattered was _more_.

The mage released his cock, only to take his balls into his mouth as he added a second finger to the first. It burned and Fenris whimpered, but it was all he wanted and not enough. Guided by instinct and the promise of higher, hotter urges, he released his death-grip on the pillow and moved to take the twin globes of his backside into his hold, spreading himself wider.

“Yes, more, fuck!” He writhed, the feel of Anders' hot mouth on his testicles, tongue pressing against the sensitive orbs inside, the hard ridges of the mage’s knuckles, the firm strength of his fingers, filling him up, twisting, rubbing hard on the place that made him want to scream, fired lightning behind his closed lids.

He clenched around those fingers, crying out when Anders’ lips returned to his cock, the unbreakable hold of a human hand squeezing the base as the mage returned to fingering and fellating the elf as thoroughly, as deeply as possible. And Fenris dug his hands into the taut muscles of his ass, sure to bruise, back arching, loud, lusty cries spilling from him between ragged gasps of air.

“Anders, give me more.” He begged, cried out for it to end, for Anders to never stop.

This seemed to push the mage over the edge for he suddenly released Fenris and lurched over him, body pouring heat, breath caressing the tender skin beneath the elf’s ear.

“I want you so bad I’m in pain. May I have you?”

“Please!”

“Maker, Fenris.”

And then the mage was between his legs, the rampant pulse of his cock pressing against Fenris’ ass, sliding inside with only a bit of resistance. The elf twisted, the pain only pushing him that much higher, past an immediate end, to the start of another rise. Anders grunted softly, but pushed deeper slowly, letting Fenris accept him at his pace, and an emotion twined with, but so much stronger than desire thrummed in the elf’s soul.

“Anders.” He whimpered the name, hands releasing his own body, seeking blindly for the mage.

The human understood, his long fingers grabbing for Fenris’, locking them together as he seated himself fully, rocking forward to press the whole of their bodies together, bound hands resting close to the elf’s head. 

“I’m here. I have you. I’ll always have you, Fenris.”

He opened his eyes, wanting to see the truth, needing it. Anders’ gaze was open, reassuring even with its heat, passion. “Move, I want to feel you, Anders.”

He did, first gentle rolls of his hips, pulling soft groans from Fenris, then with short, shallow thrusts, pulling back the smallest fraction before pushing deep again. As his flesh adjusted, opened up, relaxed, Anders grew more fervent, hands freeing themselves so he could lean back, grasp Fenris, and lift him into his possession.

The elf fell into their coupling, let the waves of energy surging and retreating carry him on tangled lines of desire as he neared the final culmination. He curled his hands around Anders’ forearms, dug his fingers in hard enough to draw blood, and used all he knew to rise and meet the mage, stroke for stroke, straining, striving, crying out.

“I am – Anders!” A hard tug inside, as lyrium rose unbidden, power coiling in his core.

“Maker, Fenris, I can’t last much longer.” Anders growled and the sharp tang of ozone rose to mix with the scent of sweat and masculine need.

The unseen connection between them snapped with a thousand volts as Anders poured magic into Fenris at the same moment the elf could no longer hold back his power. Even behind closed lids, the glow of their combined energies lit the room brighter than the noon day sun.

“ _Imo!_ ” Fenris had no sense left for the common tongue and he didn’t wish for it either as all that had been built and drawn rigid shattered, flinging him toward an apex he couldn’t have fathomed.

His back arched, hands clinging to Anders’ shoulders as the mage wrapped his strong arms around Fenris, pulling him upward even as the human pressed his head against the elf’s sternum, crying out, loud sobs of spent passion, of pleasure intense enough to cut.

“Fenris, Fenris, _ich liebe dich_.” Anders hips swiveled, his hold tightened as he poured his spend into the elf.

Fenris gasped, every muscle in his body spasming. Each wash of hot seed against the sensitive walls deep within jolted another explosion from his cock, the viscous fluid coating his belly and Anders, smearing over their sweat-slick skin. Faintly, he heard Anders words and wondered at their meaning. As the orgasm tore away everything but ecstasy, Fenris filed them away, to ponder when he was not so far into bliss that nothing else mattered.

“Anders, Anders.” He slid his palms from shoulders, to neck, then into the thick, silken strands of hair and pressed his face against the crown of the mage’s head. His body continued to shake, but he held tight, trying to slow the sobbing of his breath, the furious pounding of his heart.

“Here. Right here.”

“I know.” Fenris whispered and hugged the man tighter. Anders was right where he was needed most.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sexual situations featuring exhibitionism and spanking if the first part of the chapter.
> 
> Non-character inflicted harm to a child and child abandonment in the second half.

“Anders!” The baritone call drew his gaze and he looked over the heads of the milling crowd, searching for the speaker.

“Anders! Over here!”

He nodded when he spotted Nathaniel and a small company of the Silver Order. “There’s Howe. Come on, Fenris.”

The elf fell into step behind him as they made their way through the throng of people at the docks. Anders glanced around the city he’d last seen a smoking ruin. Almost ten years had restored the ‘jewel of the arling’ back to its former glory and then some, it seemed.

Nathaniel dismounted and embraced Anders warmly. “I’m glad you’ve had no lasting effects of your interesting situation.”

“Ah, you know me, Nate, not even a Fade Spirit could keep me down. How is Justice?”

Howe’s brown eyes shifted. “He told us what happened, Anders, before the Architect sent him back into the Fade. I wish – I’m so sor-“

Anders cut him off with a frown. “I really don’t want to discuss it. But I’m glad he’s back where he should be.”

It was obvious Nathaniel wanted to press, but when Fenris moved next to the mage, his face cast in harsh angles, the bowman stepped back. “We have horses for you.”

Anders hesitated. He wasn’t good with the animals, despite being from a place where they were common and important parts of society. Especially for farmers, as his family had been. “Nate, you know I don’t do horses.”

“You will ride with me.” Fenris made it a statement and moved around Anders to look over the rider less steeds the Warden brought. 

The mage watched the elf eye each mount critically, then shift and assess the other horses. “You, there, dismount. We will take his horse. It will bear the weight of two without distress.”

Howe lifted a brow, but motioned for the soldier to comply. “Your friend seems to have a sound sense of equines.”

“My friend can tell the worth of a man by the threads in his clothes. But he can’t tell elf root from rash vine.” Anders chuckled at Howe’s surprised look. “Let’s get to the Vigil.”

Walking to Fenris’ side, he watched the elf pull off the saddle and replace it with a flat, padded cushion. “What’s that?”

Fenris looked over his shoulder. “You are from the Anderfels and yet do not recognize a bareback seat?”

“Most of the horses I knew were used for plowing, not riding. And I’m a terrible rider.”

The elf smirked. “If you ride better than you sing, we will be fine.”

“And if I don’t?” He gave the smaller man a cheeky grin.

“That is why you are riding in the front.”

With some help, Anders managed to mount the horse, though neither the mage nor the steed seemed very comfortable at the proposition. Fenris, blighted elf, threw himself up as if it was the most natural thing in the world, crowding close to Anders’ back and taking the reins in hand.

“Place your hands on my knees and try to relax. Move with me and the horse. I have you.”

 _Boy, do you ever._

Since the night he’d cried out his love for Fenris in the heat of passion, he’d struggled not to repeat the admission in a language the other man understood. He wasn’t certain Fenris was ready to go there, and since the rest of the voyage had been spent healing, until he was thoroughly exhausted, they hadn’t had another opportunity for intimacy either. Though, that might have been for the best, considering they’d been rather vocal and Anders had been forced to stop Fenris from ripping several hearts from chests when his patients started making explicit advances on his person.

Grinning to himself, he focused on the task at hand and did his best to follow the elf’s instruction as the group started out. Surprisingly, he found it rather easy to unwind. Resting against Fenris, he knew the elf wouldn’t let him fall, that he’d keep him safe. The Vigil wasn’t more than a few hours ride, so Anders settled deeper into Fenris’ embrace and just enjoyed the journey.

The group of men were spread apart, horses plodding along at their pace, the warm Amaranthine sun beating down, when the first evidence that the slow, rolling gait of their steed was affecting the elf. Anders smiled to himself and shifted backward the slightest bit, biting his lip to stop a soft moan as that magnificent cock hardened further, jutting against the right cheek of his ass.

“Mage.”

“Hmm? What? Are you alright, Fenris? I can move,” and he did, squirming around, rubbing suggestively, “if you’re uncomfortable.”

“If you do not sit still, I will take what you are offering. Right here, in front of your friend and his men.”

Anders laughed and rolled his pelvis in counter point to the horse. “No you won’t.”

“I have not had you in days. Do you really think I care who watches? I will lay you over the neck of the horse and bury my cock in your ass, force you to ride me as I lead the charger all the way to your Vigil. By the time we arrive, there will be no doubt what we are doing, nor how many times you have spent yourself.”

The mage shivered as the idea of such of thing brought him to hot, rigid erection. Maker, Fenris was unbelievably good at dirty talk. “Is that all? Doesn’t sound bad to me.” His voice fell into a deeper register as he let his arousal carry the words. Pushing, as ever, because Fenris just made it so easy.

“I will not warn you again.”

“Fuck me, Fenris.”

His face was full of mane, his robes thrown up over his back before Anders could even squeak. He clutched at the horse’s neck, shaking and almost nauseous at the speed with which this crazy thing between he and Fenris could go from placid pond to hurricane churned sea.

There was some shifting behind him then, “Grease, mage.” 

He bit his tongue as the elf laid a hard hand against his ass, the sting of the slap loud. Maker, he closed his eyes even as he reached backward, seeking Fenris’ palm and cast a small slick spell. The elf hissed as the magic danced over his flesh. Without preamble, the warrior moved again and began to push himself inside Anders.

By Andraste, when he’d chosen robes and forgone smalls this morning it had been due to a lack of clean choices, but now, as Fenris’ thick cock plugged him, he thought he’d never dress differently again. He tried to move, but the elf’s gauntleted hand took a hard grip on his hip. 

“You will not move. You will ride me as the equus moves and nothing more. And I will enjoy the view.” Fenris traced his finger around the stretched opening of his body and Anders whimpered. “Oh yes, just like that, mage.”

Each step of the horse’s legs changed the depth and angle of Fenris’ penetration. The elf had not lied, it was maddening, his own hard cock trapped between his belly and the pad atop the animal’s back. When the horse stumbled, its pace shifting, jolting for a few paces, Anders came for the first time, clenching his jaw to hold back the sounds he wanted to make.

“Mmm, good. I wonder how many more you can have? Let us see this Grey Warden stamina you are so famous for.”

His cock was soft, but Fenris’ was not, and the horse just kept walking like there was nothing going on. His body was over sensitive, and the constant friction only heightened his awareness. Within minutes, he grew hard again and grunted, shifting back to force more of that wide elf cock inside.

A loud crack and he jolted back more. _Fuck that sting is soooo good._

“You like that? Then I shall endeavor to give you more.”

Anders didn’t know whether to be mortified or elated when Fenris began to slap his buttocks, alternating sides, somewhat playfully first, escalating incrementally until the mage’s ass was on fire and each new blow added to the blaze.

“The Howe is watching and so are several of his men. I think he means to stop me. If you wish for me to continue, you should say so.”

“Fenris, please! Don’t stop, Maker!”

A dark, possessive chuckle and another blow. “I believe he understands. Very good, Anders.”

He was shaking, gasping for air, hands twisted in horse hair, his bottom sore in every delicious, debauched fashion he knew, and _fuck I love this man_. Fenris made a clucking sound and the horses gait changed to an ungainly trot.

“Fuck!” He came again, harder than the first time, choking as he tried to breathe.

The elf slowed their mount again, soothing a hand over Anders back. “Are you alright?”

“I’m covered in my own come with a huge prick rammed up my ass. I’m fucking perfect.”

Fenris laughed. “You wish to continue then?”

“Yes, please.”

The elf tugged at the back of his robes. “Sit up a bit.”

Anders body was blissfully relaxed and moving was a struggle, but he managed with Fenris’ help. The new position settled the elf nearly all the way inside. “Maker, Fenris, you feel so good.”

“Remove my gauntlet then shift your robes so I may take your cock in my free hand. You do as well, Anders.”

He smiled and quickly pulled the clawed armor from Fenris’ arm, then made his body accessible to his lover. He bit the inside of his cheek when those lovely fingers closed over his lax prick, strangling on a shout when the elf began to play with the painfully sensitive organ. Soon enough he was ready again, blood pounding in his groin, breathing raggedly.

“It seems the stories about the Wardens are not all exaggerations.”

“I’m getting fucking dizzy, shit. If I come again, I’ll probably pass out.” He shuddered with a laugh.

“Then you are lucky I am an expert horseman.”

“Fuck, Fenris, oh, shit.” He panted as the elf closed his fist around the long cock jutting from his body, pulling hard, twisting his wrist, the changing his hold, just two fingers and thumb, rubbing violently, rapidly over the glans.

“I am going to make you come very fast, very hard. Yes, that’s it, move your body. Anders.” 

His name was a deep, primal growl. Fenris moved faster and faster, his fingers, palm, skin relentless as he pulled, shoved, barreled Anders toward oblivion. True to his word, orgasm roared through the mage only a few minutes later. He bellowed his release to the sky, the third pinnacle almost painful, his body tightening around Fenris’ cock so hard he heard the elf hiss, felt his hips jerk against his ass, but his lover did not follow him over the edge.

Gently, Fenris maneuvered them, slipping from Anders body with another harsh growl. The mage assumed he was adjusting his clothes, but whatever Fenris did he was quick about it, pulling Anders robes down and tucking the man back against him with skilled, efficient motions.

“You didn’t…”

“No, you have had enough for now. I have no wish to hurt you.”

Sluggishly, he lifted one hand to wrap around the one Fenris pressed over his belly. “You’re amazing, Fenris. _Ich liebe dich_.” He sighed contentedly and let his head loll back against the elf’s shoulder.

“What does that mean?”

Anders chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you one day.”

Fenris made a huffing sound, but he spread his fingers beneath Anders’ hand, curling the digits around the human’s and holding tight.

* * *

Anders was asleep against him and had been for some time when Nathaniel Howe dropped back next to them.

“I trust I made things clear.” Fenris didn’t bother to look at the other man.

“Graphically.” The human sounded uncomfortable and at least a little angry.

“Good.”

“Listen, Serrah-“

“Fenris. My name is Fenris.”

“Fenris, I don’t think that was appropriate.”

“I could care less what you think.”

“I’m his friend-“

“You were his lover. You will not be again.” Nathaniel made to object and Fenris turned his head to spear the other man with a hard glare. “Do not waste time lying. I could read it on your face the moment you saw him.”

“Anders is a Warden. He always will be.” The human thought to remind Fenris the mage could never be his.

Nathaniel Howe was wrong. “He is _mine_. I do not share. And unlike you and your Commander, I actually protect what is mine.” His barb hit home and the human looked away, shame coloring his face.

He had to give the other man credit. Instead of moving off, he remained next to Fenris and the sleeping Anders. After several more miles, Howe spoke again.

“How long will you be at the Vigil?”

“As long as Anders needs.” He paused, considering his next words. “I am his as much, if not more, than the reverse is true. Whatever he wants, anything to make him happy, I will see it done.” 

It was the closest he could come to saying the words that were burning in his soul, and for some reason he wanted this human, this Warden who had known Anders long before the mage had come into Fenris’ life, to understand just how much the man meant to him.

Howe nodded. Then he smiled. “I understand. Anders is lucky.”

“No. He could have had anyone. I am the lucky one. More than you can possibly know.” 

Lucky didn’t even come close. He had fought and kicked and spit the entire way, but Anders found a way to accept him, to care for him, to forgive him over and over and over. And Fenris would never forget that, would never let himself forget it again.

“We’ll be at the Vigil in little more than an hour. Fenris.” Howe nodded and kicked his horse into a canter, returning to the front of the group.

Fenris adjusted his hold on Anders and pressed his heels into his own mount. If he’d moved to rouse the mage, he might have seen Anders was already awake, a smile on his lips and the single track of moisture tracing down one cheek. 

* * *

The plaintive cry drew Fenris’ attention about a half hour later. His hearing was more sensitive than a humans and he cocked his head toward the sound. Reining the horse in, he listened, but heard nothing and tightened his knees, urging the mount forward. They moved perhaps another twenty feet when he heard it again. 

Perhaps it was the young of an animal, maybe a deer? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think that was the case. He nudged Anders, who stirred and sat up.

“Hmm? Why are we stopped?”

“Shh, listen. Do you hear that?”

The wail sounded again, louder this time, a choking, coughing sound following it.

“Maker, Fenris, it’s a child! Howe! Nathaniel, hold up!” Anders was off the horse before Fenris could stop him, his long legs taking him through the thick grass that grew next to the road and into the dense woods a few feet back.

Fenris dismounted, hurrying after the human. Thank goodness for robes and red-gold hair, otherwise he might have lost sight of the man. “Anders, slow down.”

“Maker, give me strength.” He heard the harsh words come on a huff of breath as he drew abreast of the mage.

A tiny child, no more than three or four years at best, was caught in a wolf trap, the sharp, angled teeth of the steel contraption buried deep in his? her?, Fenris could not tell, thigh.

“What do you need me to do, Anders.”

The child was terrified, that much was obvious, though when Fenris stepped closer, the child’s eyes widened, and it lifted its tiny hands toward him. He looked back at the mage, unsure what to do, what the young one wanted.

“Go to her, Fenris. Hold her still while I pull this damn thing off and pray I can save her leg.”

“It is female, then?”

“And an elf, if those ears are anything to go by.”

Fenris hadn’t noticed the pointed tips peeking through thoroughly matted and filthy hair. He knelt next to the girl, carefully lifting her into his lap when she would not stay still on the ground beside him.

“Ashes of the Bride.” Nathaniel kept his voice low and stepped behind Anders. “Damn it, this is becoming madness.”

“Hello, little one. My name is Anders and I’m going to fix you right up. Can you understand me, sweetie.”

The child nodded her head, and curled her small hands tightly into the sides of Fenris’ armor.

“You just hold tight to Fenris. This is going to hurt, pretty bad, but then I promise, I’ll take all the pain away.”

She whimpered and Fenris found himself holding her tightly. “It is alright. Anders is very good with his magic.”

“Howe, help me with this.” Anders looked at Nathaniel and the other man knelt down, pressing on the release while the mage pried the jaws open. 

The little girl screamed in pain and Fenris felt the agony like it was his own. He clutched her tighter, trying to soothe her and having no idea how to, but a memory lifted, the Wounded Coast and a desolate Anders and he began to hum the song, a remnant of his mother. The girl continued to cry, but the screaming lessened, and though it took several minutes, between Howe and Anders, they finally managed to free her.

“Alright, let me see the leg. Shit, why is there a child, alone, in a damn trapped forest?”

“That’s what I was talking about. We’ve been getting more and more abandoned children at the Vigil. Mages. There’s no circle here, and with the Chantry and Templars in such disarray, we’ve become a kind of safe harbor. The Wardens care not mage or mundane. King or kinslayer.”

“Are you serious?”

Howe nodded. “Several years ago the first showed up. A boy of ten named Marcus. Well, Neria refused to shuttle him off to Kinloch or Rivain. Eventually, a few more joined Marcus and eventually the Commander turned several of the old houses on the estate into a home. Hired teachers, apostate mages, to come in and care for the children.”

“She created a Circle?”

“Not unlike the one you put together in Kirkwall, as I understand it. Except it’s completely comprised of abandoned children and their caretakers, we haven’t been approached by any adult mages.”

“So someone just dumped this child off, didn’t even bother to make sure she got to the Vigil?”

Howe frowned. “I would say yes.”

“Fucking bastards. Shh, it’s alright sweetie.” 

Fenris watched the mage take a deep breath and reach out with his power, healing magic washing over the child. She didn’t seem frightened by the energy, in fact she relaxed in Fenris arms with a soft sigh.

“Thank the Maker she’s young. The bone is healed and the worst of the damage, including the infection that had already begun. I want to get her to the Vigil and clean before I finish though.”

“Understood. If you like I can take-“

Fenris tightened his hold. “No. She is fine where she is.”

Nathaniel’s brows lifted, but Anders gave him a gentle smile. “Well, then let’s get to the Vigil.”

The elf stood, adjusting the girl in his hold so her face wasn’t pressed to the hard ridge at the front of his armor. She touched his face and he looked down at her. “Yes?”

He felt her magic stir and then ice began to curve and curl around her arm, down toward the elbow in a simple design. He smiled when he realized she was mimicking his own tattooed skin. “Mine is not ice, but it is pretty.”

“I think you have a fan.” Anders walked beside them, smiling at the girl who returned the gesture. “Do you know how many winters you are, love?”

Her brow furrowed and then she shook the ice from her arm and pursed her lips as she tried hard to get her fingers to cooperate, finally managing to tuck the pinky beneath the thumb to hold up three tiny, filthy digits.

“Only three? Well, you’re very good with your magic for only three.” Anders pressed a quick fingertip to her nose, gaining him yet another wide smile.

Fenris turned his face to the mage’s. Three seemed very young to come into magic. “How often does that happen?”

“It is exceptionally rare. The earliest most mages manifest is five or six. And certainly not with her kind of control. It makes me wonder if she wasn’t in a Circle somewhere. She doesn’t look Dalish, and besides they’d never abandon a child, let alone a mage-born one.”

They approached the horse and Anders got himself on its back. Fenris lifted the girl toward the human and after a moment of hesitation, she went willingly. Anders held her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’ll bet once we get you clean you’re absolutely stunning. Do you know your name, sweetie?”

She nodded somewhat grimly. 

“Will you tell me? Not that ‘sweetie’ is a bad name, but I bet yours is much lovelier.”

She laid quietly in his arms for a few moments and then soft as butterfly wings she spoke. “Amawiel.”

“Amawiel?”

She shook her head and tried again, but the same word came out. Anders frowned for a bit, thinking, then smiled. “Is your name Amaliel?”

She nodded exuberantly and he kissed her head again. “It’s so nice to meet you, Amaliel.”

She giggled and snuggled close to the mage and Fenris felt a strange pull as he looked on. This child was a survivor. She’d been abandoned by the people who should have protected her, caught in an animal trap for Maker knew how many days, and yet she’d trusted him without question. Trusted Anders. In her place, as a grown man, he’d lashed out at the Fog Warriors, but not this tiny girl, Amaliel. She was brave, braver than he’d been most of his life.

“Are you alright, Fenris?” Anders looked down at him, eyes filled with concern.

He cleared his throat. “I will lead the horse. Hold tight to her.”

Anders tilted his head, still worried. “I will.”

Fenris took the reins and followed Howe and the others toward the Warden base.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you might need tissues. I don't know for sure but better to warn ahead of time :)

“Anders! That is Anders, right, Zev? What’s that he’s got? Oh, look, Fenris too!”

Neria Surana was practically bouncing on her feet as they entered the Vigil. Fenris frowned, her frenetic energy chafed at him. Still, she had separated Justice from his mage and was the Hero of Ferelden. He supposed she was allowed some eccentricities.

“Would you like to go to Fenris, Amaliel?”

The little girl nodded and sat up, reaching immediately for him. He felt himself smile as he carefully took her from Anders, stepping away so the man could slide off the horse. Absolutely without grace.

“Is that a child?” Neria danced forward, her elf close behind, though as they drew near, Fenris couldn’t stop himself from turning a bit away from her, shielding Amaliel.

Neria didn’t even pretend to notice. “Hello there, little one! I see you found a Fenris.”

The mage Commander might have been insane for all Fenris knew, but her exuberance was infectious. The little girl giggled and held out her hand, repeating the ice trick from earlier.

The elf clapped her hands in delight. “Very nice! A mageling too. Well, I suppose that’s how you came here then.”

“She was caught in a trap. I need to get her thoroughly cleaned and finish healing the wound.” Anders pressed his arm to Fenris’ shoulder.

“Of course.” Neria waved an older woman to them. “This is Lissie. She’ll take you-“

“No!” Amaliel shouted the word and clutched tight to Fenris’ armor.

Neria looked at Zevran, who inclined his head, then back at Amaliel. “Don’t worry. We have lots of little ones. Lissie loves-“

“No.” This time the girl didn’t shout, but she shook her head. 

“I will take her wherever she needs to go.” Fenris shifted Amaliel in his arms.

The Commander tapped her finger to her chin and hummed. “Okay. Lissie, would you show our newest guest,” she gave the girl a dazzling smile, “to the bath. And find her some clean clothes.”

The other woman dipped a curtsy. “Of course, Commander.”

The three of them, Anders included, trailed after the older woman as she led them to a house near the entrance. It was a large home, and had seen some renovations, and as they stepped inside, Fenris was almost overwhelmed by the… noise.

Children, there were children everywhere. Not hundreds, likely not more than a dozen and a half of varying ages, but the sound! It was a cacophony of yells and chirps and laughter and angry shouts. He shot a bewildered look at Anders, who just laughed.

“Kids are noisy.”

“Children. Children!” Lissie sighed and put two fingers to her lips. A painfully loud whistle erupted from her mouth and both Fenris and Amaliel shrank away from it.

The room fell to silence, however, so it was worth it.

“It is time to be readying for bed.”

“Yes, Lissie.” The whole rambunctious group sounded sullen.

“Follow me, Serrahs.”

She took them up the stairs and opened a door, revealing a large bathing chamber with two deep tubs. “Can you heat the water?”

Anders nodded. “We can handle it from here.”

The woman’s brows lifted. “You? A man?”

His mage chuckled. “I’m a spirit healer, Lissie. I’ve bathed, birthed, and bested many a child.”

She laughed as well. “Aye. Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. When I find her some clothes, I’ll just set them there.” She pointed to a table nearby.

“Thanks. Alright, Amy, how about we get you out of those clothes and cleaned up?”

“Amy?”

Anders looked at the girl. “Would that be alright? If I called you Amy?”

“Uh-huh.” Her tiny voice was so soft, Fenris could hardly hear her.

“Fenris, bring her over here to this bench. I need to wash the wound and finish healing it, then we’ll put her in the tub.”

She cried a bit as Anders scrubbed what remained of her accident, but Fenris stayed by her side, holding her tiny hand in his. At the mage’s suggestion, he’d removed both his gauntlets and his chest plate.

“There we go, Amy. All better. Now, promise Anders you won’t go into the forest alone again.”

She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes but nodded. Lissie returned with clothes as well as a large towel and Anders prepared the water.

“In you go, love.” 

Fenris set her in the water, but when he made to move away, she grabbed hold of his tunic. “Don’ go, Fenis.” 

He smiled and curled his hand around her little fingers. “I am going to sit over there while Anders gets you clean.”

“Stay here. Pwease?”

He sighed. “As you wish.”

Ander laughed softly and began to soap a cloth. “Hmm, where should I start? Here?” He rubbed at her elbow. “Maybe here?” The curve of her shoulder. “No, I think here!” The mage’s fingers danced over her belly and she erupted in tinkling, musical giggles.

And so it went, until not only was her body clean, even between her itty bitty toes, as Anders called them, to her head. Her hair was a light, chocolate brown and as they brushed it out, after having dried and dressed her, they found it cascaded all the way down her slim back in large, swirling curls.

She turned in her chair and looked up at Anders for a long time. Finally, she scooted forward and pressed a kiss to his chin. “I wike you.”

Fenris watched the mage swallow very hard before collecting the girl in his arms and hugging her tight. “I like you too, Amy.”

They left the bath and headed down the stairs, where Lissie waited with a meal for them. “I’d say once her belly’s full, she’ll be ready to sleep. I think she’s had a difficult few days.”

In fact, little Amy barely made it half way through the meal before she began to doze. Fenris lifted her onto his lap and she was asleep in moments. He and Anders finished their food, but when Lissie approached, meaning to remove the sleeping girl from Fenris’ hold, he was seized with a panic not unlike how he’d felt when he had seen the devastation his careless words had inflicted on Anders not so long ago.

He looked at the mage and didn’t know how to articulate the frantic pounding of his heart, the horrible pain twisting his gut. He didn’t know this girl at all, had no reason to feel anything, but… 

“I… I can’t-“ He knew he sounded strange, beseeching and confused, but Anders… The mage understood. He pressed a palm to Fenris’ cheek before turning to the older woman.

“She’s coming with us.”

Lissie looked at Fenris uncertainly, but something she saw in his face must have settled her worries because her face softened. “Alright.”

Anders carried his armor as they headed toward the Warden compound proper, his free hand pressing over the sleeping child’s head before sliding into Fenris’ hair and pulling the elf close for a soft kiss. “ _Ich liebe dich_ , Fenris.”

* * *

“Wake up, Fenis. Wake up.” Tiny hands squished that face and the elf blinked blearily.

Anders laughed. “Come on, sleepy head. I have to go see Neria. There’s breakfast on the table and paper and wax colors to keep her busy for a bit.”

The tiny girl climbed onto Fenris’ chest and leaned very close to his face. “Are you wake?”

“I am now. Why are you so close?”

“To make sure.”

“Of what?”

“Justs right. You have pretty eyes.”

Fenris smiled. “So do you.”

“I’ll be back soon.” He grinned at the two elves as he left their room.

Outside the room, he pressed his back to the wall and tried to keep the somewhat manic laughter building in his chest inside. He’d only barely found a place of balance with Fenris and he didn’t know whether to be frustrated or unbelievably moved by the fact the damn elf seemed to have decided the tiny mageling should be his, theirs, as well. He had never, ever, in his wildest imaginings thought coming to Amaranthine would find him on the cusp of parenthood.

Not like he’d had much choice. Maker, the anxiety, the terror on Fenris’ face when Lissie had tried to take Amy from him… He couldn’t do anything but agree. For whatever reason, actually perhaps in the utter absence of the very thing, Fenris had bound himself to the child, a mage child, as surely as he’d told Nathaniel he was willingly tied to Anders. Fenris was _hers_.

Sighing, he pushed off the wall and headed to the Commander’s office. He rapped his knuckles on the wood and heard Neria’s sweet voice beckon him in.

“There you are! I wasn’t sure we’d see you at all today. Not after what Nate told me happened on the way here. You are so naughty, Anders!”

He groaned. Had that been yesterday as well? “Neria, even I have the sense of mind not to fornicate with a child in the bed.”

“Wait, what? You mean Lissie wasn’t teasing me? Your elf really refused to give her up.”

“Indeed, my dear Warden. Apparently, he was quite beside himself at the very idea.” Zevran stepped into the room and closed the door, moving around the desk to settle on the arm of Neria’s chair.

“I don’t know about that. How do I know you won’t abandon her later?”

“Neria! What the fuck!” Anders felt his whole body tighten up as anger pulled his face into a dark scowl. “I can’t believe you said that.”

She cocked her head from side to side, the shrugged. “Just making sure. You are sure, right? Kids are for life.”

Anders shook his head. “I know that. But hey, this way I probably won’t have to do any potty training. Or middle of the night feeding. Or diapers.” He chuckled to himself, not sure if he was laughing at the insanity or the happiness bubbling inside.

“Well, that’s settled then. Onward. Why are you here?”

Anders reached into the satchel and pulled out the documents from Hawke. “The official seal of the Viscount of Kirkwall solidifying your new alliance.”

Neria grabbed the papers and tossed them to the side on the desk. “He could have sent those with his Ambassador, your Fenris. Why are you here?”

Anders sat down in the seat across from her. “Ten years is a long time, Commander.”

Her ever-perky grin slipped away. “It is. I’ve missed you, Sparklefingers. And so have the others. Fuck me, Anders, I am so sorry-“

“So am I. Sorry I ran away. Sorry I didn’t come back and explain what happened. I’m sorry about a lot of things, maybe most of all blaming you for what happened. If only you hadn’t let that bastard join, if only you’d taken me with you…” He stopped talking and leaned onto the arm of his chair.

“I should have listened when you said not to recruit him. I should have known I couldn’t trust a blighted Templar, all those years in the Circle taught me not to believe a word they said, but I was arrogant. I’d just defeated the Archdemon and the Mother. I’m Warden Commander of all Ferelden and the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Who could be so stupid to fuck with me?”

“The Circle.”

“Only the Circle, my dear Warden.”

Anders and Zevran grinned at each other while Neria cursed some more beneath her breath. “When I got back, and found out what happened, what those that remained thought, I almost made my own Exalted March. And that was before Justice told us everything.” Neria’s voice caught and she turned her face away.

Anders moved to comfort her, but Zevran waved him off, instead wrapping his own arm around her while the Commander pulled herself together.

“If I could have resurrected those bastards and ripped them apart again, I would have.”

“I know. And I understand, now, that you didn’t really have a choice at the time. Not in recruiting him and certainly not in leaving. The First Warden calls, you’d better move.”

Neria snorted. “There’s whispers that fat, bloated ass is getting ready to kick it and I’m being put forth to take his place.”

“Would you do it?” Anders rested his chin on his hand.

Neria looked at Zevran. “If the ex-Crow here was willing, I’d think about it.”

“Where you go, I go. Even if it is that awful, dreary, snow covered country called the Anderfels.”

“You know I’m from there, right? You couldn’t have forgotten that.” Anders lifted a brow, grinning at the assassin.

“Indeed.”

Turning back to the Commander, Anders leaned forward and covered her hand with his. “I came to ask your forgiveness and give you my own. The Wardens are my family, as much as Hawke, and Varric, and Fenris are. Ten years is too long to go without seeing family.”

“And a little elf girl too, Papa Anders.” Neria’s eyes glittered and she squeezed his fingers. “Enough of this shit. Getting all fucking misty, what’ll the men think? Come on, I say you grab that elf of yours and we let him loose on the recruits!”

“Maker, help me.” Anders stood and laughed.

Neria skipped from the room. “Hurry up! Recruits, training yard, now!”

A chorus of ‘yes, commander’s’ echoed from the great hall and Anders turned to Zevran. “How in the Void do you keep up with her?”

The elf laughed loud and long. “Let me say my abilities have no chance to go lax.”

“No shit.”

* * *

“Fenis?”

“Hmm?” He held one of the books Anders had brought for him to practice, the one with the letters, in front of himself and Amaliel, who was perched in his lap.

“Are you gonna weave me, wike momma?”

“No.” His voice came out harsh, almost angry and he leaned over to press his lips to her head. “No.”

“Okay.” Simple as that, the tiny girl was reassured, settling back against his chest.

“That’s a Mabari.”

Despite the thickness in his throat, Fenris laughed. “That’s what I said too. But Anders says to think of it as just a dog, then it fits.”

“But it’s a Mabari.”

“I know.”

The door opened and Anders stepped in. 

“Ands!” Amaliel looked over and smiled happily.

“Ands, is it?” The mage walked over, ruffling her hair before leaning down to take Fenris’ lips. 

“It went well?”

“It did. How would you feel about a bit of sparring?”

Fenris lifted a brow. “With whom?”

“The recruits. What do you think, Amy? Want to see Fenris teach some recruits how to be real warriors?”

“Are you gonna get hurted, Fenis?”

Anders laughed. “I cannot even imagine it, love. But if he does, I’ll fix him up good as new.”

“Wike me?”

The mage lifted the girl from Fenris’ lap and gave her a gentle toss in the air, joining her in laughter. “Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

A comment Merrill once made flashed through the elf's thoughts and he began to laugh. He was smiling so hard, it _did_ feel like his face might crack. “I had best make ready then.”

Amaliel watched with avid interest as he pulled on his armor, her eyes going very wide when he strapped on his sword.

“It’s bigger ‘en Fenis.” She whispered to Anders, who bounced her on his hip and chortled.

“I know. But he lifts it easy as you.”

“Wow.”

Fenris felt his face warm at the sound of admiration in her little voice. Anders closed the door behind them, but quickly grabbed his hand, linking their fingers. Amaliel looked over to see and grinned broadly at the other elf before settling her hand on Anders shoulder.

They entered the practice yard to find the men lined up, Neria tapping her foot. “Took you long enough. Hello, little one!”

“That wady is vewy happy.”

Anders snorted. “Most of the time, frighteningly so.”

“Yes.” Amy nodded emphatically.

Fenris grinned at them both before turned back to the Commander. “You want me to spar with them?” He unsheathed his sword and swung it in an arc in front of him. Several of the men gasped and stepped back. He felt a dark smile curl his lip. 

“Oh, I do like you, Fenris. My only rule is no fisting and try not to lop off anything important.”

He inclined his head. “The let us begin.”

* * *

“Justs right. Fenis is strong.”

Anders looked at the girl in his lap. He’d borrowed a stool from Herren and they sat, watching the elf work the men through their paces. The clang of steel on steel rang in the air, and he was actually surprised Amaliel wasn’t frightened.

“What do you mean, ‘justs right’?” The way the girl worded it seemed quite strange to Anders.

“Justs. He’s my friend. He helps me, when I’m sleeping, so the noisy things go away.”

“Justs… do you mean Justice?”

She nodded vigorously and looked up at him, pressing a tiny hand to his cheek. “When I gots hurted, Justs said to try and stay calm. Him says Ands and Fenis were comin’. That you’d be my papa’s and love me. It tooked you a while, and my weg hurted bad. And then you was there and Fenis.”

 _Oh sweet Andraste._ Anders was dizzied by Amy’s revelation. “Love, how long have you known Justice?”

She shrugged. “Don’ know. Not much, just since I went to the Fade the first time. Justs found me cryin’. The noisy things were scaring me, but hims chased ‘em way. Then momma lefts me and I was cryin’ gain, and Justs told me in dreams I only had to wait a little bit, ‘cause you and Fenis was almost to Ama…Ama…”

“Amaranthine.”

“Uh-huh. I waited a long time, one night and one whole day.”

“Oh, my precious, precious Amaliel. Is that why you weren’t scared of Fenris?”

“Justs shows me his face. He does have pretty eyes. And he’s buzzy too, like fuzzy caterpillars on my arm.”

“The next time we go to sleep, I want to go with you to see Justice. Would that be okay? He is a very good friend of mine and I owe him a great big thank you.”

“Okay, Ands.”

The whole thing settled in her mind, she turned back to the action, clapping and cheering for Fenris and soon enough Anders was too. After all, the elf was the most gorgeous, beautiful, and perfect thing the mage had ever seen.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's still an epilogue, which I'll try to get posted ASAP, but this is the finish. The chapter is short, but really, there's only one more thing our boys need...
> 
> Maybe tissues :)

“Don’t stay gone so long, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise. And if you need me, you know where I am. No one can ever be an ex-Warden, right?” Anders hugged Neria tight, then turned to Zevran. “Keep her safe.”

The assassin pulled him into a brief embrace. “Always, my friend. Always.”

He made to hug Nathaniel, but Fenris’ low growl halted the motion. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes he held out his hand. Neria’s crazed giggling didn’t help. “It was good to see you Nate.”

The other man grinned and shook his hand. “You too.”

“Tell Sigrun and Oghren I send my best. I’ll make sure they’re here the next time we visit.”

“Sigrun will be down she wasn’t here, but I’ll pass on the message. And I’ll be sure to tell Velanna all about Amaliel. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

Anders chuckled. “I may be a shem, but at least I’m a mage. And with Fenris.”

“The ships ready to sail, Messeres.” The captain nodded at Neria before heading toward the wooden incline behind them.

“We’d better go. Say goodbye, Amy.”

“Byes everbody. I’m going with my papas now.”

“You sure are, little one! What an adventure!”

Anders watched Amaliel smile brightly as Fenris carried her onto the ship. One more round of hugs, even for Nathaniel now that the elf wasn’t there to remove vital organs and Anders followed his family onboard. He couldn’t wait to get to Kirkwall.

No one was going to believe this shit.

* * *

Amaliel was settled into a trundle bed beside them, fast asleep. Anders looked down at her and smiled, but as he climbed under the covers with Fenris, a sigh left him.

“Are you alright?”

“Better than, if you want the truth. The past two months in Amaranthine, with the Wardens, I needed it.”

“Is it Amaliel?” Fenris refused to use the pet name. But the man didn’t use contractions either, unless he was absolutely smashed.

“No, Fenris, never.”

“Is it our lack of intimacy?”

Just hearing Fenris say intimacy was hilarious, but Anders kept his chuckle to himself. While they’d only managed to be alone less than a half-dozen times since arriving in Amaranthine, the time allowed them to build emotional bonds so much deeper than the tiny budding thing they’d had before they visited the Vigil.

“You do drive me insane. And I won’t lie. I might be a bit frustrated.” He hugged Fenris close. “But no. I suppose, for the first time in a long time, I don’t have a goal. I reconciled with Neria, spoken with Justice, the Circle in Kirkwall is changed, mages are as free as any man, and I finally managed to land the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you worried Cullen will try and force Amaliel into the Circle.”

“I will fucking kill him if he even thinks about it.”

The elf rumbled his agreement. They were quiet until Fenris traced the edge of Anders’ brand closest to him. He’d finally told the elf about them, how a band of Dalish had given him food and shelter for a night, and that when the Templars found him the next morning, they’d decided if he wanted to be a ‘knife-ear’ so bad, they’d give him some of their ‘paint’.

“Would you have preferred to stay in Amaranthine?”

“No. My home is in Kirkwall, with you and Amaliel. Don’t mind me, sometimes I just get maudlin. I swear, it’s nothing you’ve done or not, nothing to do with that precious child.”

Fenris shifted, taking his lips, caressing his jaw. “Good night, Anders.”

“ _Ich liebe dich_ , Fenris.”

* * *

“Fenis?”

“Yes?”

“Do you wuvs Ands?”

Fenris looked at Amaliel. “Why do you ask?”

“I fink, maybe, he finks you might not. Sides, he says he wuvs you always, but you don’ say it back.”

“What?” Fenris’ brows high on his forehead. He was certain if Anders had said that, he would have known.

“Uh-huh. Ik leebee deesh. Ands says it means ‘I wuv you’. Hims whispers it to me ‘fore bed.”

Maker, how could he have been so stupid! Of course that’s what those words meant. Fenris closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the tiny girl’s. “Yes, Amaliel. I love Anders. More than life.”

“Then you should tells him, Fenis.” She looped her reed thin arms around his neck. “Do you wuvs me?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick as he wrapped his own arms around her tiny body and lifted her up. “I love you, Amaliel.”

“Good, cause I wuvs you, Fenis.”

He thought he might break apart in her gentle hold. Not since the night he’d cried in Anders arms, since the man he loved had forgiven him for being the biggest ass in the world and given him another chance, had he felt as if everything in his world could be more _right_.

“Fenis?”

“Hmm?”

“Is you cryin’?”

“Only because I am very happy.”

“Okay, me too. Fenis?”

He laughed softly. “Amaliel?”

“Can I calls you papa now?”

He was quiet for a bit. “What would you call Anders?”

“Papa too.”

“Hmm, what if you called me ‘Tata’. It means papa in Tevene, the language of my birth.”

She seemed to mull the idea, then she nodded with a smile. “Tata.”

“And you are my _nata_. Little girl.”

“How much more days ‘til we gets home?”

“The captain says we should see the twins by nightfall.” Anders strode up to them, hands already out for Amaliel as she jumped from Fenris’ arms and into the mage’s.

“Papa!”

The man staggered, one large hand almost spanning her small back. Fenris reached out to steady him and he watched Anders take a few choking breaths, as he himself had but moments before. When those amber eyes blinked open, Fenris didn’t bother hiding the dampness on his own face.

Anders cleared his throat and managed a tremulous smile. “You and Fenris must have had a good afternoon while I was making all the sick men better.”

“Uh-huh. Are you happy too Papa? Tata was cryin’ too. It’s okay, though. Hims just very happy.”

“Yes, Amy, I’m very happy. And very hungry!” He lifted her up and made snarling, grumbling noises against her belly, dissolving her into bright fits of laughter.

“You can’t eats me, Papa!”

“No? I bet you’d be sweet as chocolate.”

“Nope.”

Anders gave a put-upon sigh. “Alright. Then I suppose we should go to the galley.”

They ate a lunch of cold fare and as seemed to be her penchant, Amaliel started drifting part way through.

“We’ll never get any meat on her if she doesn’t stop dropping off in the middle of the meal.” Anders tucked a finger under her chin from across the table.

Fenris laughed. “It is the only time she stops moving or talking. She asks more questions than any creature I have ever known.”

“Let’s get her back to the cabin and down for a nap.”

The elf carried her back, tucking her into her little bed. He stood and moved to stand beside Anders at the small table situated beneath the porthole.

“Anders?”

The mage turned toward him and Fenris pulled him around more fully, cupping the mage’s beloved face in his hands. “Amaliel pointed out something I have overlooked. It is past time I rectify it.”

A lascivious grin lit the mage’s mouth. “And what might that be?”

Fenris smiled softly. “ _Te amo,_ Träumen. _Quam vita_.”

Anders arms grabbed hold of him as if he thought Fenris might float away. His honey-gold eyes shimmering with liquid. “I love you, Fenris. I love you so much sometimes I think I’ll burst, there’s just not enough room inside to hold it all.”

“As soon as we get to Kirkwall, as soon as it is humanly, or magically, possible I am going to take you to bed and show you just how much I adore you. How very glad I am you are the mage you are, that you gave me the chance to learn what love is and to have it for my own.”

“Damn you, elf. I can’t even come close to that.” Anders laughed gently and turned his face to press his cheek to Fenris’ belly.

“You have already done far better. I love you.”


	23. Epilogue

_About six months later..._

“Tata?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Auntie Mers okay? She’s yellin’ awful loud at Uncle Garrett.”

Fenris laughed. And so did everyone else sitting outside the Viscount’s private chambers.

Varric leaned over and gave Amaliel (Butterfly) a little tickle on her side. “Daisy’s just letting Hawke know they might want some space between babies, that’s all.”

The little girl shook her head. “Nuh-uh, Varric, she says shes gonna cut off his ba-“

Fenris clapped his hand over her mouth, while Varric, Isabela, and Aveline nearly laughed themselves out of their seats. Even Sebastian gave a soft chuckle.

Amaliel looked up at the elf, her delicate brows lifted in question, lime green eyes wide. 

“You should not say that word. Or repeat what you hear others say.” He smiled gently and dropped his hand. 

“But Tata, Isy says worse stuff ‘n that.”

Fenris shot the pirate-queen-cum-soon-to-be-princess-of-Starkhaven a dark glower. 

“Now don’t go getting’ your panties in a bunch, Fenris. I didn’t know she was in earshot. I do _try_ when Butterfly is with me? Don’t I pumpkin’?”

“Yep. She mouths a bunch of words. It sounds funny.”

“She wouldn’t be Isabela if she weren’t incorrigible.” Sebastian leaned over to press a kiss against her head and she shooed him away.

“Stop that, you. Gah, with your public displays of affection!”

Aveline shook her head. “I do not know why you put up with her.”

“Thumb, big girl. Ass. I win.”

“Isabela!!” Fenris felt his ears flame and he dropped his forehead into one palm.

The Guard-Captain, however, roared. “Oh, ho, you bitch. I’ve missed you.”

“Right back at you, Lady Man-hands.”

“So, Broody, you and Blondie thinking of expanding the little family?”

Fenris snorted. “We have discussed it.”

“And?”

“Papa and Tata says they wanna wait a bit more. But not too long and then I’ll have a brother or sister.” Amaliel piped up happily.

“Good for you.” Aveline ran a hand over her own rounded belly. “It’ll be good for Benoit or Leandra too.”

The screaming from the other room silenced any further conversation, though it wasn’t long before everyone heard the first cry from a newborn’s lips.

“Oh, Maker, finally!” Varric shifted in his seat, as relieved as Fenris thought Hawke might be at the birth.

They laughed at the dwarf and were relaxing when there was another shout, followed by another healthy squall.

“Oh my god, was that?” Isabela looked toward the doors, then tipped her head back to gaze at the prince.

“I don’t know, love, but it sounded like-“

Hawke burst from the room, looking like a mad-man, his clothes and hair in utter disarray. “Twins. We have twins! Malcolm and Marethari! Oh, Maker, twins!”

“Oh, shit.” Varric was out of his seat at the first roll of Hawke’s eyes, Sebastian hot on his heels.

“Tata, Uncle Garret just fell down!”

Fenris tilted his head back and bellowed his laughter to the ceiling. If anyone deserved twins, it was Garrett Hawke.


End file.
